The Court of St James's
by writendelete
Summary: The story of how American ballerina Bonnie Bennett got with the second-in-line to the British throne, Prince Niklaus. [KLONNIE] Modern Royalty AU
1. Chapter 1

_**Is the Party Prince all partied out?**_

**By Anne Baldwin**

_Prince Niklaus has caused quite the stir within Buckingham Palace's walls and sent numerous courtiers' heads spinning this past weekend. First, he was caught by a paparazzo stumbling out of The Club at the Ivy, an exclusive, membership -only club located at West End, London. Accompanied by two of his closest friends, the group was said to be cheerfully drunk and happy to chat along with onlookers, much to the consternation of his royal protection officers. _

_A day later, a video hit the internet. Posted on Instagram by a fan account, the video shows a playful side of the prince as he downs pints and jokes with patrons at a pub and already has half a million likes. The Palace, however, is said not to be pleased. A well-connected source says that "the Queen is certainly not happy with such behavior. Prince Niklaus is expected to take his duties seriously and instead, he's amassing a reputation that is unbecoming of a member of the royal family." _

_The same source admitted that some courtiers and family members are "concerned that the Prince refuses to grow up and wondering how long it will take for him to mature". Despite denials, such statements only make one wonder if there is truth in rumors that Queen Esther is hesitant to make Prince Niklaus the Duke of York and give him his own household. _

"_The Palace will never acknowledge it, but I believe they are being haunted by the ghost of Edward VIII," royal historian Alan Watts states. "The late king who abdicated was also known for loving parties and skirting his duties."_

_Now drawing comparisons with one of the most infamous royal family members in Modern age, one begins to wonder what is next for Prince Niklaus. Will he remain the Party Prince despite the criticism and pressure from the family? Or is he all partied out?_

* * *

"Must you keep doing this, Niklaus?" Elijah asks as he enters the green drawing room; frustration evident in his voice as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Sitting by the mahogany desk, Niklaus closes his book and offers his older brother a small, mocking grin. After all, his outrage is far too inflated for the current situation. "I would not even be aware you were in the country had it not been for the press. The office just released a statement saying you were conducting private engagements in Ireland and you are caught stumbling out of a bar eight hours later!"

"I did conduct private engagements in Ireland before getting on a plane and returning home," Klaus says with a shrug, failing to understand why half of the British press and now Elijah seem to be so up in arms about this event. He did conduct his scheduled appointments in Dublin without any troubles. Getting pissed at a club in West End was done in his private time, not when he was representing the Crown, so it really is nobody's business whether or not he wants to down a pint too many. What fault is his that somebody alerted the media to his presence?

"Then you proceeded to go to a pub and now there is a video of your drunken self on Instagram posted by a teenage fan. If you must know, Mother is furious."

Despite the slight threat behind Elijah's words –his brother has always been a little too keen to toe the line and keep their mother pleased; a trait that Klaus himself has never been able to pick up – Klaus only spares him an uninterested glance.

"Is she?" He wonders, inching his head to the side with feigned curiosity and just a hint of surprise. Though known for her restraint and unflappable character in public – a perfect embodiment of the British stiff upper lip – their mother is not one to shy away from concealing her displeasure behind Palace's walls.

In retrospect, his mother's silent stance is rather odd. If Elijah is this well informed regarding his whereabouts of two days ago, Klaus can only imagine his mother has been thoroughly debriefed on this.

"I would have guessed she already summoned you to Buckingham Palace, but it appears I am wrong," Elijah comments with a shrug of shoulders.

"Small miracles, perhaps. I am in no mood to get a dressing down from mummy," Klaus states with an insolent grin that turns into a grimace as he remembers just how scornful mummy's dressing downs could be.

In response, Elijah throws his head back in an amused, hearty chuckle. Oh, setting Niklaus straight would be far more entertaining than expected.

"Do not think yourself so lucky. If Mother didn't call you herself by now, it means that she is letting someone else handle this. Considering you are featured on the cover of at least three tabs, with your sobriety being questioned, I'd wager someone else is taking care of this matter."

Klaus' nonchalant attitude crumbles as his blue eyes widen in small horror. It reminds Elijah of the times they would cause mischief in Sandringham, sneaking into the kitchens to steal pudding and getting caught by their stern governess.

"Fuck," Klaus breathes out, collapsing on one of the dark green velvet sofas and bringing a hand to rub his eyes in a dramatic fashion. "Fellowes."

"Fellowes," Elijah repeats with a nod of the head, snickering once more. The pained expression on Niklaus' face is almost enough to make him take pity on his brother. Almost.

* * *

With an impossibly straight spine, dark brown hair slicked back and gelled so no strand is out of place and a bespoke black three-piece suit from Norton & Sons, Baron Robert Fellowes is the picture of propriety and looks every part of his role as Private Secretary to Her Majesty, the Queen.

Klaus takes a quick glance at him, sees the corners of his thin lips curl in a barely there smirk and he knows he's fucked. After twenty years as a courtier, Fellowes has turned into a proper fossil whose only objective is to ensure that the Crown remains glittering and precious. At that moment, Klaus is a rusty spot that needs to be scrubbed and polished. The second son of Her Majesty may only be the spare, but even spares need to be presentable in the eyes of the world. Besides, as history would tell, a second son has reached the throne before.

"Fellowes," Klaus acknowledges him with a tilt of the head as he closes his book, a thick hardcover that depicts the history of the Port of London, and crosses an ankle over his leg**.** Displaying, as one of his tutors would say, a rather undignified posture. Perhaps a small gesture of defiance. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here."

"Her Majesty is concerned with the amount of publicity your actions have been receiving and she has tasked me in-"

"Fixing my reputation, I take it," Klaus interrupts with a humourless chuckle, not at all intimidated by the hard stare Fellowes' dark eyes fix him. "You do know that, in some circles, my reputation is not at all tainted. A modern prince is what they call me."

A small vein in Fellowes' neck throbs dark red against his pale skin; the only indicator of his growing dissatisfaction with Klaus's nonchalance. It takes all of Klaus not to laugh at his barely concealed discomfort**. **Surely he would have a problem with this. To men like Followes, tradition is paramount, and modernization and evolution should never be mentioned in the same sentence as the monarchy. Even though others would perceive a prince behaving like a normal bloke as a good thing, Followes can only see it as a gaffe. The second in line to the British throne should not be cavorting in London pubs as if a Hollywood celebrity.

"While some may believe so, it is Her Majesty's wish that you are seen as a dignified and public servant working on the behalf of the Crown," Followes states with a flat voice as he moves to place his briefcase on the antique, 18th-century mahogany side table. "Her Majesty has decided that her office will be in control of your future engagements for the foreseeable future. Your private secretary was already informed and will update your diary accordingly."

Followes hands Klaus a burgundy leather folder; the engraved Royal coat of arms staring back at him in all its intimidating glory. For all of his previous confidence, Klaus very much feels like a child who has just got a dressing down from mummy. Perhaps even a dressing down would be preferable to this because if her office is in charge of his schedule…

There's a distinct possibility that he will be his mother's little puppet for the - as Followes has put it- foreseeable future. Fuck.

* * *

**_The Barre_**

DANCE | FOOD | TRAVEL | FASHION (ISH) | LIVING | ME

**TO DOING THINGS DIFFERENTLY**

_After hundreds of rehearsals hours, thirty performances, forty pairs of dead Blochs, curtains calls, flower bouquets and too many lost bobby pins, Nutcracker season is over. Even with the sore muscles and bunions, nonexistent sleep, I think I'll miss it. The Nutcracker is a piece of magic coming true on stage and I feel special in knowing I am partly responsible for it. However, with The Nutcracker and its grueling routine coming to an end, I have more time for the usual end of year self-reflection. In this case, it's a belated end of year self-reflection, over a bowl of mac n cheese and watching a marathon of Christmas movies in my bed. _

_I've never been a big fan of New Year resolutions. To be honest, I don't have the best track record when it comes to them. I'm still lazy on winter mornings and still have an unhealthy addiction for shoes and handbags. To me, those resolutions always seemed to be another way to keep procrastinating (hey, another habit I still can't shake off!). However, I've decided that instead of trying to force myself to change habits that are simply too ingrained in me to be ever be erased off, I will commit to small actions that could change me as a whole. Short of my pointe shoes – the only thing that will stay the same until I am ready to retire- everything goes. Who knows what can a small change bring?_

_So, here's to a new year and doing things differently._

_xo, Bonnie_

* * *

_**The Royal Diary**_

FUTURE ENGAGEMENTS

8, April 2019

Prince Niklaus

Will attend a performance of the Royal Ballet at the Royal Opera House, Bow Street, Covent Garden, London, WC2E

* * *

April rolls in and "doing things differently" has become Bonnie's unofficial motto. Usually, grueling four acts of Romeo and Juliet followed by an hour of chatting and grinning at cocktail reception designed to dazzle Opera donors would have caused Bonnie to plead for a steaming Epsom salt bath and a glass of red wine. In the spirit of changing things up, however, she says yes to Hayley's offer of a celebratory after-party.

This is how she finds herself at one of those posh, exclusive clubs that are so often featured in glossy magazines. As it would seem, Sarah, a fellow principal dancer, knows someone who's flirting with someone who is a member and he very much likes the idea of being surrounded by ballerinas. After a short drive in a crowded Hyundai and far too many champagne flutes – thank God they don't have early rehearsals tomorrow- Bonnie is delightfully tipsy as she stands precariously on her Aquazzurra four-inch heels and struggles with the small engraved Zippo lighter.

Just as she's about to abandon her quest for a cigarette – the only nasty habit she hasn't been able to shake off- a pair of pale hands reach over and light the cigarette in one smooth motion.

"I reckon it would be terribly not chivalrous of me to allow a lady to fight with her lighter," the mystery man says with a smile as he moves to light his own cigarette.

"My prince charming," she chuckles before taking a drag of the menthol cigarette, not noticing the way he tenses up. "I've been trying to quit them, so maybe you're not that charming."

He throws his head back in a burst of amused laughter, and somehow, Bonnie finds him even more attractive than she did thirty seconds ago. Maybe it's the champagne-soaked cloud surrounding her, or the way the dim light of club hits his freaking cheekbones, but this man is so damn alluring.

"Well, I'm afraid clairvoyance is not taught at prince charming school," he laments; his eyes so fixed on her that Bonnie feels warmth creeping up her chest despite the unusual cold wind that hits them as they stand in the balcony. "Perhaps I could speak to the dean?"

"If they could read princesses' minds, I bet everything would be much easier."

"But then I wouldn't have an excuse to escape from my mates and talk to a pretty lady, would I?" he says as he takes a step forward. Just a few inches, but it's close enough to make Bonnie wonder if she's getting a little drunker.

"If you learned that line in prince charming school, maybe the whole curriculum needs to be revised," Bonnie jokes, trying to pretend she's utterly unaffected by this man whose name she doesn't even know. He's handsome and _so_ charming and that she even finds his posh accent adorable.

This guy is probably a future Lord who will inherit an estate in Norfolk or something of the sort. Completely out of her league, but he's oh, such a nice distraction. Besides, there is no issue in a harmless little flirting, right?

"I'll admit. I may have mucked the whole thing up."

"I mean, I would think the first rule in the book of chivalry is for the knight to present himself. That would only be the proper thing to do, wouldn't it? I'm Bonnie, by the way," she extends her right hand for a shake and tries to conceal a shiver when he brings it to his lips. "Laying it on a little too thick, no?"

"Miss Bonnie, I find it positively dreadful that you consider my gesture of chivalry to be 'laying it on thick'," he says in exaggerated fake outrage. "You have been hanging around the wrong blokes."

"I'll be sure to write down _must be too gentlemanly to bear _on my dating requirements list," Bonnie giggles, wondering for a second if she sounds stupid. If he thinks so, there's no sign of it in the way he looks at her.

"It is only right," he agrees with a nod and reaches down his back pocket to fish out two cigs, one for him and another for her.

"So I should call you the _mystery man with impeccable manners who encourages one of my worst vices?_" Bonnie wonders with a scrunched nose as she accepts the cigarette from him. "That's way too long of a name if you ask me."

"If you must know, my name is just as long as this one. People call me Niklaus, though."

Even in her drunken state, Bonnie is able to recognize the name that is so often featured in the tabloids. So she was right. He's posh and maybe the son of an aristocrat who is close to the royal family.

"Hey, Juliet!" Hayley calls out before Bonnie can respond. With one look at the brunette, she can see her friend is way past tipsy stage and has lost any type of elegance years of ballet had afforded her. "We're leaving. Not all of us have the day off tomorrow."

"It looks like my night is over," Bonnie says, sounding a tad more deflated than she intended. "Thanks for the cig, by the way."

"It's always a pleasure to, as you've put it, encourage one of your worst vices," Niklaus replies; a mischievous and pleased smile gracing his lips.

"Oi, Your Royal Highness! Want another pint?" a blonde guy peeks his head out to ask, causing a light bulb to go on inside her head.

Holy fuck. This mystery man is not just _a_ Niklaus, a guy with a posh accent, nice manners, and pretty blue eyes. He is _the_ Niklaus, Prince Niklaus.

And she's been drunkenly flirting with him for the past half hour without noticing his identity.

* * *

A couple of days pass, and Bonnie is half inclined to chalk it up Friday night as a figment of a drunk and creative imagination. After all, none of her colleagues can remember most of the night and what are the odds that she actually chatted – and flirted, emphasis on flirted- with a freaking prince? Bonnie is far from being a royalist – she's American, for goodness' sake, and her time in London hasn't been remotely long enough to understand British politics- and she doesn't believe royals are magical unicorns who are so much better than the rest of mere mortals.

However, she is well aware they don't run in the same circles. Hell, they don't even run in the same universe. She's a black, American woman raised in a sleepy Virginia town and he has an honest to God title before his name – his obnoxiously long name, she remembers his words with fondness. While she's riding the Tube to get to early rehearsal, he's in a palace sleeping in his massive bed.

Their crossed paths were probably just a glitch in the system, a story for her to tell Caroline when they meet up in the summer or even tell her children in an attempt to sound cool. A fond memory and nothing more.

At least that was what Bonnie thought. Three hours and some twenty messages later, everything changes and she doesn't even realize it.

* * *

BONNIE (8:31): So, I may be close to freaking out

CAROLINE (8:35): What, why?

BONNIE (8:36): A prince just slid in my DMs

CAROLINE (8:36): WHAAT? 👀

CAROLINE (8:36): Which one?

BONNIE (8:37): I met Prince Niklaus at a party.

BONNIE (8:37): I was drunk and didn't recognize him. Care, we flirted

BONNIE (8:37): A LOT

CAROLINE (8:38): Really?

BONNIE (8:38): Just got another message from him. He wants a date.

CAROLINE (8:39): JTHFGS CALLING YOU RN!

* * *

As far as Bonnie is concerned, things go from surreal to Lifetime movie material before she can even process it. In one moment, she's in her flat, draining the bottle of rosé that's been forgotten in the back of the fridge while Caroline updates her on life at Mystic Falls –her and Tyler are on a break _again, _Elena still can't figure out what she wants in life. In the next, she's sipping a cocktail named _Flying Bees _while listening to Nik (the exact moment she's gone from Your Royal Highness to simply Nik, she will never be able to pinpoint) recounting his memories of his childhood and growing up at Buckingham Palace.

It's odd, how normal it feels. The luxury that surrounds them, as understated as it, should have intimidated her. Instead, they sit side by side on one of the comfortable sofas, just a few centimeters separating them as they share a mozzarella pizza. It's as if Nik is an old lover and friend and they are reconnecting.

And this feeling? It scares her. She likes making plans and sticking to them. Right now she's on Life Plan #17, which includes consolidating her position as principal dancer and certainly does _not _include going on dates with princes. Even if said prince is far too charming for his – and her - own good.

"What? Don't tell me I have tomato sauce on my face," Bonnie pleads with an embarrassed chuckle when she notices he's staring at her.

"Your face is still perfect," he assures her; pleased when her skin turns a delightful shade of pink. "I have realized I've spent the better part of the hour recounting my eventful childhood, you must think me a self-centered and boring date."

"God, no!" Bonnie waves off the accusation with a small smile. "Your childhood tales are very entertaining. I mean, you could definitely produce a BBC documentary with all of them. As a matter of fact, I'm afraid I'm the one who's a boring date, seeing as your mother is the Queen of England."

Klaus laughs into his pint and shakes his head. Usually, the mere mention of his mother would be enough to put a damper on his jolly mood, but there is something quite charming in the way she crinkles her nose. Bonnie Bennett is unlike every other woman he's met.

"At least three pages come up on Google when you type Bonnie Bennett, I'm hard pressed to believe you're a boring date," Klaus replies as he takes a bite of the pizza.

"Well," she starts to say and halts when her brain processes his words. "Wait, you googled me?"

"How else was I supposed to find you? You forgot to leave your glass slipper behind," he reminds her with a grin. What is about her – a virtual stranger- that makes him grin like a bloody lunatic? "Surely you wouldn't rather I use some more official channels to find you?"

"Should I be concerned that a member of the royal family is using Scotland Yard to get a date? Did they investigate me before you asked me out?" Bonnie wonders in what's supposed to be a joking tone, but then she realizes that her being vetted is a very distinct possibility. It would not do to have a criminal or a stalker being this close to the second in line to the throne, after all.

"If me going through your Instagram page is an investigation, then you can consider yourself _thoroughly _investigated. Congratulations, Miss Bennett, you have passed my ever so rigorous test."

"And what is my prize for achieving that feat?" Bonnie asks; her voice slipping into a hoarse whisper. She takes a sip of the _Flying Bees_, hoping the drink will soothe her dry throat and calm her down just for a moment. It doesn't. She's voluntarily jumped out of the frying pan and went straight into the fire.

"I believe many would say a date with a prince is a rather adequate prize, wouldn't you agree?" he says; trying to focus on anything but her lips. Pink and glossy with mussed lipstick. Beautiful.

"I think it depends on the prince," she teases as she brushes a hair tendril – Californian messy curls, as Caroline instructed her via Skype – behind her right ear. The distance between them, or lack thereof, becomes more obvious and she can smell his cologne. This time, it's more pronounced and not hidden by the unpleasant scent of cigarette smoke. Bergamot with something peppery. "I happen to read the tabs and some of the things they say about princes are just horrifying."

"And this prince?" Klaus whispers as he leans over her, wishing to close the distance between them, but also conceding the control to her.

"What about him?" she asks; hyper-aware of her own fluttering pulse and his breath against her cheek.

"Is he an adequate prize?"

In a rush of sharp confidence, Bonnie allows the brush of her lips against his to be her answer. Everything is warm and Bonnie gasps, feeling her body tingle from her belly down to the tip of her toes.

"More than adequate," she whispers, nipping his lower lip as she tries to get her mind sorted. "But I do have the feeling you don't need the ego boost."

"You are a proper menace," he breathes out, part of him wondering why she – and her little smile and those big green eyes – can get to him like that.

"A menace to His Royal Highness, Prince Niklaus? I believe that would be treason, no?"

They share another Margherita pizza, order another round of drinks, chat, laugh and kiss. When the restaurant closes at one a.m., he takes her hand and leads her to the rooftop lawn. They hang out in one of the loungers, share a bottle of Krug champagne and make out like a couple of teenagers until the sun appears in the London skyline.

* * *

**A/N: And I'm back with a new story because I just couldn't ignore this one! I'll admit, I'm a big fan of Meghan Markle and she inspired me to write a commoner-turned-princess story with a dash of royal intrigue!**


	2. Chapter 2

In a certain way, everything stays the same. Bonnie still gets up at seven in the morning, makes a strawberry and banana protein shake on her Vitamix, goes to company classes and rehearsals and smiles through every single curtain call.

Except it doesn't. Because a couple of months ago she wasn't seeing a prince and now she is.

Three days after their date, Klaus sends her an email saying _I happen to be a rather busy bloke and would be very happy to coordinate with you_ with a blinking emoji (somehow, she's more surprised to find out he of all people uses emojis than seeing an email from HRH Prince Niklaus sitting on her inbox). Attached is his royal engagement schedule, looking so official with his letterhead that Bonnie feels like she's breaking some law by reading government documents. She wonders if his email is the royal version of a callback.

Bonnie realizes she's living a double life when she grabs her weekend duffel bag and hails an Uber to West London instead of taking the Tube to go home without a second thought. Maybe double life is a bit of an exaggeration, but that's how it feels.

Most people at Shoreditch House – their safe haven, since she can't just show up at Kensington Palace's gates and he doesn't want to take the risk of paparazzi following him to her flat – greet her by her first name. Servers at the rooftop restaurant know her favorite drink and her favorite dish.

Other than the members of Shoreditch- many of them fellow artists who are fortunately uninterested on whether a prince is dating an American commoner – Caroline and Marcel, his closest friend, nobody knows.

It's like they exist in a pretty, tiny bubble, filled with laughter, hushed whispers, and lazy kisses. Bonnie likes the bubble, she does. When she's there, she pretends they're just a mundane couple at the beginning of their courtship. But sometimes, when Bonnie's outside the bubble and sees his face plastered on the tabs (_**PRINCE NIKLAUS LINKED TO LADY MARY!**_ seems to be the big story of the week), she wonders if she's actually a dirty little secret. Someone that will only be kept at arms' length.

Their bubble is pink and cozy, but he also has a bubble. One that's gilded, glittering and it doesn't include her. This is when Bonnie tells herself how stupid she's been to think this could be real.

And then-

"Fuck, I missed you," Klaus whispers; his breath warm against the skin of her neck and his fingertips sliding down her spine. He's still wearing his navy blue suit, the same outfit he was sporting during his royal engagement in the afternoon. "I tried to slip out of there as soon as I could."

Then Bonnie wonders how she can even question what they have and mutes every doubting voice in her head.

* * *

They don't really have that awkward, world-revealing conversation to discuss "their status" or "what they are to each other". Bonnie finds that Niklaus is a man of action and doesn't need many words to convey his thoughts.

On an unusually chilly June Thursday, Klaus finishes his engagements, takes a car back to London and has his one of assistants purchase a ticket to her "Coppelia" evening performance. Afterward, when they're back in the tiny room at Shoreditch House and her legs are sore, he hands her an Advil with a pint of her favorite artisanal pistachio ice cream from a little store in Covent Garden.

"My favorite!" Bonnie cries out in a burst of excitement. "You are literally and figuratively a prince."

"I'm a considerate prince, love. What kind of prat does not know his girlfriend's tastes? That's just poor manners," he tuts in an ever so British manner that would make her chuckle if she wasn't trying to get over her mild shock.

"Girlfriend, huh?" is all that comes out of her mouth as she finds herself unable to think of anything else. She wants to freak out, get a notepad, make another list to figure out how this can work. Being his…whatever was simple, nerve-wracking but simple. This is complicated and has the potential to scare the ever-loving fuck out of her.

Her last serious relationship was with Jeremy Gilbert, a guy she's known for most of her life, and that was a mess at the end. Nik is unfamiliar and a member of the fucking British Royal Family. If she got her heart broken by Jeremy, a simple boy from her small hometown, what was the kind of damage could Niklaus inflict?

"Well, I would say this particular designation suits you, wouldn't you agree?" he asks as if they were discussing the weather, no hesitation in his tone. Bonnie doesn't know if his resolve and perfect use of the Queen's English is annoying or strangely endearing.

She's scared of what this could bring. Do they have a future or are they on borrowed time? Either option is enough to make her stomach flutter with anxiety. The thought of walking away from him, seeing him be with another woman makes her nauseous.

"I guess you're right," she agrees with a nod and brings a spoonful of pistachio ice cream to her lips.

And this is the abridged story of how Bonnie Bennett became Prince Niklaus' girlfriend.

* * *

B onnie Bennett is an anomaly. Perhaps that isn't the most delicate or polite word to use, but a suitable one nonetheless. For starters, Bonnie doesn't know any of his friends from uni, she doesn't attend Ascot or polo matches and doesn't live in Kensington or Knightsbridge. She is also not the delicate and fragile English Rose most of the world sees as his appropriate choice of partner.

No, she is Bonnie Bennett, a ballerina who wakes up at an ungodly hour to practice yoga and whose accent has the tendency to slip into a Southern twang when she's angry.

That makes her an anomaly in his small, disgustingly exclusive universe, but this fact is of no consequence to him. As a matter of fact, it is something that has only come to the forefront of his mind once or twice during their courtship. Until now.

"I have learned to dread your silent moments," Elijah comments as he enters the green drawing room. "What ails you this time? Surely Mother has already forgiven your indiscretions after all these months."

"No, Mother has been rather pleased with my recent work ethic as she puts it," he says with a chuckle; hesitant to voice his own thoughts. Bugger it. "Even after you were with Katherine for the better part of your uni years, you decided to marry Gia. Why?"

Elijah takes a seat on the Queen Anne armchair next to Klaus, figuring he would need a moment to analyze his question. It comes as a surprise, as Klaus has never been one to question his choice in partners. He didn't exactly like Katherine – an animosity resulted from an unrequited childhood infatuation – but seemed to be partial to Gia joining the family.

"What is the reason for your question?"

"No particular reason," he answers with an unconvincing shrug. "I'm just curious. Katherine was the perfect choice for the future King of England and you completely disregarded that."

Katherine, or rather Lady Katherine, is the only daughter of the Duke of Somerset and was touted by the press as an "exquisite future consort", with an "impeccable lineage". The entire country – in particular, the British media- was shocked when Elijah broke their relationship and started dating Gia.

After all, Katherine was a strikingly beautiful aristocrat that attended the right schools (Rugby School and St. Andrews) and socialized in the right circles (she was very close to the Duke of Westminster's daughters). How could she ever be replaced?

And yet, replace her Elijah did. With hardly a care for the drivel constantly being peddled by the tabloids and an unusually bright smile as he entered Westminster Abbey in his wedding day.

"We had an unhealthy, volatile relationship. The Mirror may have believed she was the perfect wife for me but I would have been miserable. I decided that keeping my mental health as King is better for England in the future than maintaining an unblemished lineage."

Silence blankets the room.

"I met someone," Klaus finally says, grimacing at how juvenile it sounds. This reminds him of why he loathes having these conversations.

"I'm not surprised. You've been unusually quiet for the past months," Elijah comments as he reaches to pour himself a cup of tea. Clearly, this will be a conversation that requires a bit of Oolong. "And by your early questions, I imagine she has become quite an important feature in your life."

"Your assumption would be correct," Klaus says and takes a deep breath before continuing. "She's an American ballerina at the Royal Ballet, and she's African American."

It sounds wrong and tawdry to reduce all of her to these words, but they accurately depict the nature of the situation.

"So, not someone like Aurora," Elijah concludes, prompting a peal of chuckles from both brothers.

Aurora, much like Katherine, was dubbed by the British press as an English Rose and a "lovely" addition to the family.

"No, Bonnie is nothing like Aurora," Klaus says; the _thank God_ unsaid, but quite implicit. He may have been infatuated – perhaps even in love – with Aurora in the past, but the spell has passed.

"At the risk of getting ahead of myself, is this relationship becoming serious?" Elijah asks with a hint of curiosity, not fully expecting to get a straight answer out of him. Despite having some of his relationships – and flings – plastered on the tabloids, Klaus has always been one to keep his own feelings close to his vest.

"If you must know, we are serious enough to be exclusive and I want to protect her," Klaus says the last part in a quiet voice. "I appreciate her exactly because she's so different than Aurora or any other woman in our circle, but I know the press will attempt to destroy her for that. So I want to keep this as private as possible."

"I am rather inclined to congratulate you on your newfound maturity, brother," Elijah says, raising the cup of tea in his honor with a chuckle. "You have come a long way. Maybe we could meet her soon. I want to meet the woman who is inspiring all this change in you."

"You will, brother, but in due time. I plan on keeping her close to my chest and I cannot have this reaching Mother's ears."

"Well, I do not blame you."

Klaus' phone starts to beep, breaking the short moment of silence.

_Marcel (11:39): Man, you have to check out the Mail's website. Now!_

_Marcel (11:39): And I mean now, now!_

_Marcel (11:40): I'm serious this time._

With a frown – Marcel of all people knows he despises reading any of this rubbish – Klaus types the online address with his two thumbs and understands why Marcel sounds so distraught.

Right below the Daily Mail logo, a picture of himself fills up the small phone screen. In upper case black letters, the headline questions:

_**PRINCE NIKLAUS HAS AN AMERICAN BALLERINA FOR GIRLFRIEND?**_

* * *

**A/N: Just wanted to thank all of you for your reviews and say that I'm glad you're enjoying this royal all human AU! I know there wasn't a lot of Klonnie fluff this chapter, but I promise the next chapter will be filled with it. I'm also taking suggestions for outrageous tabloid headlines because (spoiler alert) there will be a lot of them in this story, much to Bonnie's distate. **


	3. Chapter 3

In hindsight, they should have seen it coming. The only thing more brutal to the Royal Family other than the Republican movement is the British press. In particular, the British tabloids. Mesmerized – and also obsessed – with the glitz and glamour that only attractive, rich kids with peerage titles could offer, they were determined to report on every single detail.

Of course Klaus's love life – the one subject that could generate an unhealthy amount of attention – would be stamped on the cover of every major newspaper in England.

* * *

**_ PRINCE NIKLAUS HAS AMERICAN BALLERINA FOR A GIRLFRIEND?_**

_**By Erin Matthews**_

_**Prince Niklaus continues to be a royal rebel, this time in his romantic choices**_

_Much has been speculated on the subject of Prince Niklaus' romantic life in the past years. After the engagement and subsequent marriage of his older brother, Prince Elijah, last year, it was anticipated that Prince Niklaus would follow suit and announce his engagement to Lady Aurora. Surprising even those who claimed to have the most well-connected sources in the royal family, Prince Niklaus ended his relationship with Lady Aurora and became a party prince, much to the Crown's dismay, and linked to actresses and models. Surprising everyone once more, it would seem that the one woman who caught His Royal Highness' heart is not another English lady, but an American ballerina. _

_Our sources have confirmed that Prince Niklaus is "no longer single, or the wild prince many believe he is" and that he is "quite happy in the new relationship". Despite our questioning, the sources insisted on keeping her identity a secret, claiming "she deserves to have her privacy for a little longer."_

_It is not exactly known where the couple met for the first time, but many wonder if it was during a royal engagement. A few months ago, Prince Niklaus attended a performance of the Royal Ballet, so that is a possibility. Some friends of the prince say he is "absolutely besotted and very happy in this relationship."_

"_They don't know where the relationship is going, but they want to keep this quiet from the press and wish to enjoy this," another source adds. "Who knows what could happen? I think they are suited for each other."_

_Considering Niklaus' new lady is an American woman with a career and the House of Clarence's past phobia of everything American, it is easy to see why one would perhaps disagree with that statement. It is certain to say we won't know for now, as the Palace has declined to comment on the matter._

* * *

A day after the Mail publishes the story, the Express and the Mirror follow suit, creating a news storm. Bonnie spends the entire weekend hiding in her apartment, cringing every time her phone makes the smallest of beeps, afraid that her identity was discovered by some overeager reporter.

Monday comes, speculation in full force, but _Prince Niklaus' American Girlfriend _remains nameless, and Bonnie feels like she can breathe for another day.

In a stroke of good or bad luck, depending on the point of view, Bonnie sprains her ankle during a company class. A minor injury. Mrs. Raine, the seasoned ballet mistress, however, is astute enough to link her dancer's rather unusual behavior to the blaring news printed out on the tabloids. She merely offers Bonnie a small smile – Bonnie can almost see a hint of sympathy in the way her thin lips curl up - a pat on her still sweaty cheek, and tells her to take the week off. Grateful, she can only nod before limping out of the studio.

Later in the day, Bonnie's spread out on her couch, icing her ankle and about to embark on a Law and Order marathon, when her phone lights up with a text from Klaus. The way her stomach clenches in anxiety as soon as she sees his name should be embarrassing, but it's inevitable.

They never had the "what we're going to do now that the press exposed our relationship" conversation. Hoping to distract the public from "such unfounded rumors", as an official from the Palace so nicely put it, his royal diary was updated and he was sent away from London for a series of engagements. Other than a series of thoughtful yet brief _are you okay? Call me if you need anything, please _messages, there hasn't been much contact. Until now.

**NIK (10:30): Willing to go on a small adventure? This is my way of apologizing for the terribly chaotic circumstance we find ourselves in. **

**BONNIE (10:31): Yes, please 😉**

* * *

Though Bonnie is quite aware that royals and normal people navigate in completely different realities, she's surprised to find they also have different meanings for certain English words. See, when the word adventure comes to mind in relation to herself and Nik, Bonnie expected them to flirt with danger and sneak out to a hole-in-the-wall in Soho. Maybe spend a weekend at the Farmhouse in the peaceful countryside. This, however, cannot be considered a _small_ adventure.

Being at a private reserve in Botswana, surrounded by uninterrupted nature and wild animals, is a little more than just a small adventure.

"When you told me you're taking me on this little adventure, I never thought we could end up here," Bonnie whispers in a weak voice. Perhaps an effect of the chilled rosé, Nik's breath tickling the skin of her neck or the amazing view before them.

"I believed I said I wished to apologize and perhaps take your mind off it," he explains with a boyish, almost shy smile.

Oh. Bonnie freezes in realization for a quick second before taking another sip of the wine. A bit of sparkling liquid courage to give her the nerve to start this conversation. There's not a manual on this exact subject – _how to discuss the status of your relationship with your royal boyfriend after you are caught by the press_ – and she's at a loss. At a loss and terrified, to be honest. Keeping this - them- in the dark, was infinitely easier than being exposed for public consumption. The media may not know her identity yet, but they will find out soon. When that happens, they won't be Nik and Bonnie anymore, they'll be Prince Niklaus and American ballerina Bonnie Bennett. And the latter doesn't really go together, does it?

"Well, this," she starts to say, gesturing to their surroundings. A campaign-style canvas tent located in the middle of the Selinda Reserve, nothing but uninterrupted nature and wild animals around them. "This is amazing, but I…I missed you."

These three words murmured out with a sigh, carry a deeper meaning and they both know it. Klaus rubs his jaw; the shadow of his unshaved beard giving him an exhausted, yet handsome appearance. The pads of his fingers make contact with the warm skin of her neck, a gesture meant to be comforting to her and to soothe him.

"I'm here, love," he assures, inhaling the scent of her juniper shampoo. Oh, he missed her, too. Five days without seeing her and having to pretend there was nothing wrong for hundreds of people and cameras was too much. "It's just the two of us."

Bonnie wants to giggle, kiss him and forget everything that resides outside their bubble. She really does. Her rational side, of course, doesn't agree with that.

"Until another article comes out and the Palace updates your diary to make the public forget about it," Bonnie blurts out, cringing at the way it comes out. She was supposed to at least pretend to be mature and understanding. Instead, she sounds like a bratty, spoiled girl who was refused her favorite toy. "Wait, forget what I said."

Other than stories about his childhood in Buckingham Palace, learning to ride ponies at Windsor, and Christmas feasts at the big house in Sandringham, they don't discuss his notorious family. Bonnie doesn't mind, to be honest. She likes learning about Nik without the shadow of his title. She likes learning about his years attending Oxford and then joining the Navy as a small act of rebellion. Back then, Nik being the freaking second in line to the throne didn't matter, but now it's the elephant in the room.

"No, you're right," he says, running a hand through his hair as he attempts to get his thoughts in order. "I should have been with you instead of allowing them to whisk me off to Bristol. This will not happen again, I give you my word."

"But you can't promise that, Nik. The Palace refuses to comment, someone even called it an unfounded rumor. I doubt they want you running to my side every time a storm hits. That's if they even know-"

"And what do you want, Bonnie?" Klaus asks, the question catching her by surprise.

What does she want? Bonnie wants him, wants this. She wants to keep cuddling with him while they admire the sunset and a group of giraffes near their tent. She wants to be able to hold his hand without looking around to check for a camera. God, there's a distinct possibility that she's falling in love with him, even though it's only been three months.

He chuckles, realizing that her mind is still working overtime to convert her thoughts into words. A familiar sensation, that one. Thankfully, he's had plenty of alone time to do that.

"I told Elijah about us," Klaus tells her, smiling at the way her green eyes widen in surprise. "It was my intention to keep you to myself for a little while, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I figured I should let go of that idea and change my planned schedule."

"Oh?"

"If you want it to change, of course," he hurries to tell her, not wishing to slip into his familiar imposing nature. A few seconds of awkward silence and her wide green eyes, and he chuckles. Pulls Bonnie close until her body fits against his at the perfect angle. "You are not a secret or something that the Palace must hide. I will not allow it."

The hard edge of his voice, the gentle way he runs his fingers up and down her back and his _words_ make her lightheaded.

"What do you mean?" Bonnie asks with furrowed eyebrows. Her rational mind can process the meaning of his words, but she doesn't want to get ahead of herself.

"It means that when we return home, I will go to Buckingham Palace for tea with my mother and tell her about this ballerina," he says; expression ranging from playful to hesitant as he fiddles with the front knot of her forest green wrap dress. "About how I cannot bring myself to be away from her."

Halfway buzzed from the wine and his cologne, Bonnie can't think of a proper answer. Instead, she leans back on the loveseat and stares up at him with glittering eyes.

"I think I may be falling for you," Bonnie whispers; all soft and dazed. Freezes when she realizes the words were not just a fleeting thought in her head. It sounds so sophomoric, these words, this confession. Like something she would tell Jeremy while kissing him on the porch of Grams' house.

"I believe I have found something else we have in common, Miss Bennett."

That reply is quintessentially his - smooth, charming and paired with a grin – and Bonnie wonders how Jeremy could even cross her mind at that moment. No, this is Nik. Soft blue eyes, bergamot cologne, and perfect enunciation.

"I want this, Nik," Bonnie finally says, leaning over until her forehead is touching his jaw, almost trying to breathe him in, to convince herself this is real.

She stands up, ignoring the way her stomach flutters with nervous excitement and unties the front knot of her dress. The garment slinks down until it becomes a green pool of fabric around her bare feet.

"I want us," she whispers; pushing a strand of hair behind her right ear.

A wave of insecurity washes over her for a moment. Standing in her lingerie, a nice matching pair in black embroidered tulle, Bonnie feels vulnerable. She's opened to him, and now they're about to take the step that scares the fuck out of her. It's the expression on his face – hungry, yet _so_ tender – that shrouds her in confidence all over again. It's his kiss, soft and followed by a nip on her bottom lip, that makes her certain she doesn't care about anything else in the world.

* * *

D espite growing up there, running through the corridors as his nanny chased him and sneaking into the Throne Room as a curious child, Klaus has developed quite an aversion for Buckingham Palace. Filled with centuries-old furniture, oil paintings and a flurry of ever so proper workers, the Palace is more a mausoleum to celebrate than a home.

Perhaps that is the reason why Queen Esther, sitting on a Queen Anne style chair, raises a pale eyebrow when _His Royal Highness, Prince Niklaus _is announced. Mary, one of her assistants, did remind her that her son wished to join her for tea, but she scoffed in disbelief.

"Your Majesty," Klaus greets with a bow and a tone that borders between respectful and sarcastic. It's a specialty of his. "You seem surprised, Mother, that I have dropped by for tea and some scones."

"Well, can you blame me, darling?" Esther asks, inclining her head to accept a peck on the cheek from him. "It would appear that you have made it your mission not to come here if not for official purposes."

"What could be more official than tea with the Queen?" He wonders with a cheeky grin, pulling himself a chair. "Besides, I developed a craving for clotted cream."

Though she's well aware her duty as Princess of Wales and then Queen forced her to sacrifice a closer relationship with her children, Esther is certain she still can tell when Niklaus – her rebellious boy - is lying. Esther is also wise not to press the issue, setting on pouring milk over her Earl Grey.

"Are you planning on spending some time with us at Balmoral come August, darling? I am certain Henrik will be pleased with your presence. He misses you terribly."

Taking a bite out of the scone, Klaus shakes his head in amusement. Of course his mother would attempt to use his youngest brother to secure his presence. Elijah did mention that, following the advice of senior courtiers, she wants to show the country that the Royal House of Clarence is first and foremost a merry family. And to convince the public, each one of them would be needed for such performance. Perhaps they could come to an agreement. His mother did enjoy making deals.

"It was not in my plans to go to Scotland this summer," he starts to say, examining the way she stirs the milk into the tea to know the best time to bring up the subject. Fuck it. "I am planning on taking my girlfriend on a holiday instead. Cape Town, perhaps."

"Oh," she comments, never taking her eyes off the bone china cup. "I was unaware you had resumed your relationship with Lady Aurora."

"I didn't. Aurora is not my girlfriend," Klaus says; a barely concealed smirk on his lips.

He knows his mother receives at least three newspapers along with a glass of water every single morning when she is woken up. He knows she's read the newspapers that so garishly reported on his love life, and even went as far as having a staffer interfere with his schedule. It is amusing to see her feigning ignorance, though. This is the same woman who is used to giving Prime Ministers a dressing gown, who sneaks to 10 Downing Street every once in a while to discuss matters of state – even when she's not supposed to. Surely Esther is well aware of who he's referring to. The press might not have published Bonnie's name, but Klaus is certain his mother has already obtained all available information on her.

"You were right, mother. This visit does have an underlying purpose," Klaus admits before taking a sip of the Earl Grey. He grimaces and wonders why his mother favors this particular blend. "As I am sure you're well aware, I am in a relationship with Miss Bennett and I wish to make that relationship public. Have the Palace put out a statement before the media creates an even worse storm."

"A statement regarding your relationship with an American?" Esther questions; two parts of confusion tinted by one part of outrage. "Surely you jest!"

It didn't take long for the naïve act to disintegrate, he notes. Klaus would not be surprised if his mother already knows every single detail there is to be known regarding Bonnie.

"I wouldn't have come here to jest, mother."

"Honestly, Niklaus, I wouldn't have thought you to be this naïve," she scoffs in a dismissive motion. "This little infatuation of your hardly warrants an official statement. As a matter of fact, I do not see the point of any kind of public announcement. It's not as if you are marrying the girl."

The way Klaus wants to instinctively counter that he may very well marry the girl gives him pause. Fuck. He first saw Bonnie six months ago, give or take. The thought of marriage should not even register to him. Despite the encouragement from courtiers, the media and even his parents, not once did he imagine himself marrying Aurora. Then Bonnie comes along and suddenly he can see it. He can imagine it. It's bloody terrifying if you ask him.

"The point is about me not wishing to skulk around and acting as if I am ashamed of her!"

"Then go about holding her hand in public, Niklaus. When have I ever exerted any control over your romantic life?" Esther wonders with a chortle. It was always a running joke among friends and family. The United Kingdom would return to an absolute monarchy before any of her boys ever listened to her. "However, do you truly wish to subject her to the unwavering criticism the press will impose on her? All for a brief relationship?"

"I hardly know whether this will be a brief relationship, mother. We could be just as serious as Elijah and Gianna."

The mention of her eldest and his wife makes Esther drop the tiny raspberry jam sandwich in a rather undignified manner. Surely her ears deceive her?

"You cannot be serious. Do you even hear yourself? This girl is utterly unsuitable for you!"

"Would you care to enlighten me on the reasons why Bonnie is unsuitable? Is it because she's American? Or maybe her race is wrong for you?" Klaus asks; his voice controlled even though he's close to losing his temper. "As many like to remind me, I am not wearing the crown in the future."

"Oh, utter tosh! I am merely being realistic, Niklaus. Yes, many would raise their eyebrows at Miss Bennett's heritage, but I am not referring to that," Esther says, a warm pink blush spreading over her face and neck the only sign of her growing distress.

"She is an independent woman and while you won't be King, you are still a working royal. Your future will have royal duties as well. Will she want to give up her blossoming career for a life of scrutiny?"

In silence, Klaus wants to fume like a ten-year-old. He loathes when his mother finds a way to make sense and dismantles his arguments in a five-second record. He also loathes feeling this naïve. Would he be placing an undue burden on her just by confirming their relationship?

"That will be her choice, mother," he finally replies, thinking of her breathy _I want this. _"As it is, the press has already started to ask questions. The only way to make them retreat is by denying our relationship, which I will certainly _not_ do."

"Well, darling, it would seem we have reached a stalemate because I simply do not understand what you expect of me," Esther comments, pouring herself some more tea.

"At least have your staff stop talking to the press with their anonymous sources and stop interfering with my diary to keep me away from London," he requests with a grumble as he bites into the scone. Esther nods. "And I reserve the right to have the Palace release a public statement in the future if it becomes necessary to tell off the tabs."

Esther's blue eyes – same as Klaus' – widen with his last demand. Admonishing the press, even the tabloids, and their sordid little stories, in a public manner is simply not done. They accept it as part of the burden that comes with their immeasurable privilege.

"Would it make you more inclined to agree if I said I am willing to go to Balmoral in August? Perhaps even join you for a service?"

"Very well then."

Esther drains the tea in one gulp, wishing it was a glass of brandy instead. If her son was willing to do this – he's avoided summers at Balmoral for the past years with particular keenness – that would mean this girl is rather important to him.

* * *

If someone were to write a biography about her life and her relationship with Nik – which they did without her authorization, ten months later – it would be fair to say her time in Botswana is what changes her mind. Spending time with Nik surrounded by nothing but the wild has made her realize just how much she wants to have a typical relationship with him.

Even though she appreciates the safe haven that Shoreditch House provides, Bonnie wants to stop glancing around in suspicion – a habit she was quick to pick up from Nik – every time she reaches out to hold his hand. She wants to be able to greet him with a peck on the lips whenever she first sees him.

Needless to say, Bonnie's a tad disappointed when Klaus wonders if they shouldn't wait until after summer to confirm their relationship.

"Just two more months?" he pleads after plopping down on an armchair, sounding and looking as exhausted as she gets after four acts of Swan Lake. "The press can be a proper beast. I don't want it to consume you or us."

Thinking of the nonstop tabloid covers, magazine articles and outlandish theories peddled as facts, (_Prince Niklaus in a terrible row with the Queen over his new American girlfriend! _is a particularly popular headline, tied with _Prince Niklaus to move to the US! Did his American girlfriend convince him to abandon his family?_) Bonnie has to agree. If they were willing to print articles upon articles based on the word of anonymous sources, there's no telling what they will do once her identity is outed. Bonnie is sure that a picture lifted off the Opera's website or her Instagram won't be enough.

"I understand," she agrees with a stilted nod, pausing when she remembers where he was this afternoon. "Did tea with your mother enlighten you?"

The thought of being the subject of conversation during tea time at Buckingham Palace is incredibly uncomfortable to her, even if the Queen is his mom. The thought of the Queen of England attempting to dissuade Klaus from continuing a relationship with her is expected and disconcerting as well.

"In more ways than others, I wager," he answers in a distracted voice and offers her a small smile when he notices the frown marring her features.

"Do not despair, love. My mother was just keen to remind me of what happens to the women who are linked to me."

Inching her head to the right, Bonnie studies him and analyzes the way he purses his lips and fiddles with his Patek Philippe watch. Unsurprisingly, he gives nothing away. After years in front of the cameras, he's learned to school himself and his features into stoicism. Bonnie can tell his silence means something. Something he's not willing to share.

"Are you afraid of what can happen to me? I am quite resilient, you know?" Bonnie says with a tiny smile meant to encourage him. "I've spent years of my life hearing that I should give up, that a black woman could not be anything more than another dancer in the corps of a small company. I didn't break then and I don't believe I would break now."

Klaus cups her cheek, taken by equal parts of awe and protectiveness. He knows her story – and would never admit he's read the New York Times piece on her meteoric rise in the Royal Ballet more times than one would consider appropriate – knows just how strong she is. Yet, he is taken by the urge to pull her closer and shield her from anything that could bring her grief.

"That's quite nice to know, I do like you whole," he murmurs with a smile before sobering up. "But you have to understand, they don't have any morals or limits. You are quite possibly one of the strongest women I know and I don't want them to attempt to break you."

"Somehow, I really doubt they can be more vicious than the ballerinas I met during the Prix," Bonnie jokes; an attempt to keep him and herself from freaking out over possibilities.

"Just humor me this one time, love," he pleads; the pads of his fingers drawing shapeless figures on the back of her hand. "Have yourself a nice holiday while you can."

"Is this supposed to be a warning?" Bonnie wonders with a crinkled nose and a little giggle to make him smile. It works. "I told you, I'm more resilient than you think."

Klaus doesn't say anything, just kisses her on the cheek and hopes she is right. He couldn't bear if she wasn't.

* * *

A/N: I can't believe I'm updating regularly, but here I am! The thought of Bonnie becoming Duchess of York and Princess Niklaus is just too cute and makes me want to keep writing. Y'all know I love a good fairytale and some sprinkle of angst. I know the last chapter was on the short side, so I wanted to give y'all a lotta Klonnie, including a little romantic trip. Thank you for your amazing reviews, they always inspire me (shout out to the reviewer who suggested a future appearance by Abby and Jamie!). Shout out to my Klonnie fam! Thank you for the encouragement!


	4. Chapter 4

**_ROYAL ROMANCE ALREADY OVER?_**

**_By Paula Reed_**

_Inside sources claim the Queen demanded Prince Niklaus' presence at Balmoral, causing his devastated girlfriend to run home to America and virtually ending the relationship._

_Weeks after their secret romance was exposed, it looks like it's already over for Prince Niklaus and his still-unnamed lady. Despite making a positive impression on close friends who said the prince was "just smitten with her", it would seem that the Queen was not as amused._

_The Palace refusal's to comment on the matter was perhaps indicative of the Queen's opinion, and the Prince's presence at Balmoral gives some weight to the claim that "the Queen all but summoned him to Scotland". There were some reports that the Prince was planning to spend the holidays with friends as usual and even his new girlfriend was included in such plans, but they had to be canceled when Her Majesty called. _

_The Palace's press office released a statement saying that "Her Majesty is very pleased to have her family join her and His Royal Highness, the Duke of Richmond in Balmoral."_

_Once again, the Palace declined to address Prince Niklaus' romantic life and denied that his alleged relationship is the cause for the change of plans. _

_"We shouldn't be surprised," royal expert Theresa More tells us. "While I am sure this girl is lovely, I don't expect this to be a serious relationship. Much less a confirmation from the Palace. To put it bluntly, I don't think we'll hear much about American ballerinas come autumn."_

_Is it fair to wonder if the Prince's interest in all things American has run out?_

Little did royal expert Theresa More knew that, come autumn, _her _interest in all things American would hit a fever peak. Bonnie will never deny or confirm whether the countless, desperate emails asking for an interview have entertained her.

* * *

Mystic Falls in August is muggy, so quiet that Bonnie can hear the familiar chorus of cicadas singing outside her house. It's peaceful when compared to the noisy chaos surrounding her two-bedroom apartment back in Chelsea and Bonnie loves it.

What she's currently not loving? The sneaky glances Caroline keeps throwing her way over her rounded frame sunglasses and the way her manicured red nails tap against the sun-bleached wood bench.

"I can hear your thoughts all the way from here Care," Bonnie tuts as she lowers her copy of Harper's Bazaar. As expected, Caroline is staring right at her. Her head inches to the left, the way it always did when she was deep in thought and trying to figure something out. Bonnie sighs. "Okay. Five minutes."

Despite sharing most of her relationship with Caroline - the blonde's ability to pry secrets out of her remains unparalleled – Bonnie still feels a little awkward when talking about him. An aftereffect of keeping their relationship _so_ close to her chest.

"How can you be so cool about this? They're saying awful things about you!" Caroline cries out in indignation, and Bonnie can't help but smile at the blonde's fierce loyalty. "I mean, they don't know it's _you, _but you catch my drift.

"I wouldn't say I'm cool with it, I just don't give them any attention," Bonnie says, and it's true.

The tabloids are background noise to her, they had to be. Otherwise, she would be drowning in negative stories. It would be an understatement to say that Bonnie underestimated the interest that Klaus generated. Considering the story about them was denied by the Palace, her name has yet to be outed and the lack of real evidence of their relationship, she expected the story to be brandished as a senseless rumor and fizzle out within weeks. Oh, how wrong she was. It would seem that the mere possibility of their pretty prince with someone who is so entirely out of the mold (oh, the horror of not being part of aristocracy and having to work for a living!) is enough to cause a commotion.

A commotion that Bonnie would very much like to ignore. She has no idea of what the future holds when it comes to her and Nik- sometimes she's convinced he's the one who's taken her heart, that she can deal with the baggage attached to him, other times Bonnie's utterly terrified of this – but she wants to shelve all of these questions for the time being.

"You're better than I am, Bon. I would be a total bitch if these people kept printing lies," Caroline grumbles as she scrunches her nose in displeasure. "Damn, even a lady at E! was talking about you for a good five minutes and they don't even know your name. I think they even have a chart to figure out who you are. One of those Kardashians had a baby and they only got thirty seconds."

The blonde's voice is low and conspiratorial. She doesn't need to say much for Bonnie to understand. _This is already big and has the potential to become bigger than life. _

"Are you happy, Bon? Does he make you happy?" Caroline finally asks; breaking the silence that's settled between them. Nothing else matters – not ridiculous articles and commentators.

"I am, and it's terrifying, Care," she confesses with a frown that turns into a small grin. Goodness, she's starting to act like a little schoolgirl. "Everything about this spells trouble, my rational side tells me this relationship can't go anywhere, and then when I'm with him…"

Familiar with Bonnie's mannerisms and unsaid words, Caroline nods in understanding.

"It's like butterflies, singing birds and fireworks all at once. The whole rom-com cliché trifecta and it's scary because nothing should feel so _perfect_," Caroline breathes out the last word, sounding the same hopeless romantic she was at seventeen. A few months ago, Bonnie would have scoffed at that. Right now, it all makes sense.

Everything with Klaus – when it's just the two of them, no tabloid articles or petty gossip – has been so effortless that a part of her is always on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, she and Jeremy were supposed to be right for each other. Both from the same small time, with the same circle of friends and a similar life story. They were supposed to be high school sweethearts, the couple that rides off into the sunset.

Then life happened. She got accepted to join SAB's summer program before her junior year and met the woman who would become her mentor, won the Prix of Lausanne and got a call from Kevin O'Hare. There were three years of an erratic, long-distance relationship that ended when Bonnie found out he was cheating with his ex. If everything went spectacularly awful with Jeremy, her friend's little brother, how could she make it work with a freaking prince?

"Something like that," she admits, coughing to clear the lump that's become lodged in her throat. "I just don't want to get ahead of myself, you know? I don't want to dream and then have everything explode in my face like last time."

"Last time?" Caroline asks; her confused expression slowly turning into realization. "Elena may be our friend, but let's be honest; Jeremy was an insecure overgrown boy whose favorite hobby was rolling joints in his dorm room. And he couldn't even do that right! Meanwhile, you were touring Europe with the Royal Ballet. Things didn't explode; they fell into their rightful place."

Taking a sip of the watered down spiked lemonade, Bonnie nods her head up and down, her mind going over Caroline's words. Of course Care would be the one to read and attempt to quell her fears in just three sentences. Of course she would be right.

"You're kinda perfect sometimes, Caroline Forbes," Bonnie finally says, moving to rest her head on Caroline's shoulder.

"I would like to think I'm kinda perfect all the time, Bennett," Caroline huffs in a faux haughty tone before curling her lips in a dirty smile. "Now, can you please drop the mysterious act and tell me if sex with a Prince is better than sex with a commoner? You know, for science?"

"Let's just say that if he wasn't born with a title, he would definitely get one."

* * *

After three weeks in Balmoral, Klaus is reminded of the exact reason why he's elected to spend his summers with Marcel and the rest of their friends anywhere else ever since reaching majority. Scotland is uneventful and a tad awkward, if Klaus is to be honest.

Just as Elijah had warned him earlier, Esther has been determined to change the public's (read: the media's) opinion. A scathing article claiming that the Royals were beginning to look like a band of over-privileged people who go out and wave every once in a while instead of the tightknit family that has inspired the English people during the reign of King George VI has been making the rounds in the British press. To counteract it, the press officers, along with Esther, were adamant that _many_ family moments should be caught on camera, snapped by five of the Palace's most trusted photographers and even going as far as taking candid pictures.

As a result, Klaus finds himself having to sit through outdoor picnics, pretending to smile while engaging in a polite and stilted conversation with his father – an art he's perfected for the cameras ever since he was fifteen – and, as he promised, accompanying his mother to a service at Crathie Kirk.

Though he considers the whole ordeal ridiculous enough to the point of considering calling Marcel for a midnight rescue operation, he soldiers on. It is best to amass goodwill from his mother now, and a sudden departure would achieve anything but. So Klaus focuses on Henrik, who has grown almost a foot since the beginning of his term at Eton, on the grouse hunt and riding. Oh, an hour in the back of Gemma, his favorite mare in the stables, is enough to brighten his poor disposition. At least it would be, if not for his siblings – who happen to be just as vexed by their mother's abnormal behavior - and their insistence on joining him.

"Must you look this miserable, Nik?" Rebekah, the twenty-three-year-old Princess Royal, questions with a bit of a pout as she bends down to rummage through her bag. "I was even kind enough to bring some libations to brighten your day."

She presents a bottle of their drink of choice while lodged at Balmoral. A ten-year-old single malt Scotch whisky. The bright, pleased with herself expression on her face is almost enough to make Klaus grin.

"Don't mind him, sister," Kol says with a tut, rushing to Rebekah's side to collect the little shot glasses that were so carefully packed into her bag. "Nik here is suffering through an existential crisis and a broken heart if the Mirror is to be believed. I cannot blame him, truly. American ballerinas are hard to come by."

Despite possessing a great amount of practice in the art of concealing his emotions, Klaus' hands close into tight fists before he can realize it. Elijah offers him a pointed glance, the _keep your temper _implicit in the way he inches his head to the right.

"Oh, nonsense!" Rebekah cries out; laughter mixed with just a hint of indignation. "Do not tell me you've taken to believing the tabs, Kol."

"Well," Kol starts to say with a shrug, extending the empty glass towards Rebekah. She fills it to the brim. "I would like to point out that Nik does seem to be quite tense for a tiny little rumour."

"Don't be foolish, Nik is not-" Rebekah scoffs, turning to stare at her Klaus, who sure enough does look far too stiff for such a harmless conversation. Her blue eyes widen slightly. It would seem that the tabs are right for once. "Why am I surprised? Surely you would want to pique Mother by dating an American."

"I'll have you know that Mother was the last thought on my mind when I decided to get involved with Bonnie, thank you very much," Klaus assures his sister with a snobbish tone befitting of a royal prince.

"Oh, Bonnie, is it?" Rebekah asks; curiosity glittering in her eyes. Accepting a glass of whisky from Elijah, Klaus fights the urge to groan in self-pity. "And why did I not meet this Bonnie yet?"

"Because if one wishes to remain in a relationship, one should not sic the sister on one's girlfriend," Klaus replies in a matter of fact tone; as if the answer is could not be any more obvious.

"Sic me on her? You speak as if I am a harpy or worse!" Rebekah protests; a hand on her chest as if she's just received the most scathing insult. Her sorrowful demeanor would be enough to send any stranger – and even some of the more ancient courtiers at Buckingham Palace – into a spiel of apologies. Klaus, however, can only shrug. Years with his sister have made him immune to her acting abilities.

"Your pretty and sweet smile doesn't fool me anymore, sister. Besides, if the press catches wind of this, they will never leave her alone and some of your companions tend not to be too discreet," Klaus explains, noticing the slight flush that appears on her cheeks. "I'm not inclined to see my personal life printed out on the papers for public consumption. I may be used to it, but she doesn't deserve any of the sort."

"Huh," Rebekah murmurs; eyelashes fluttering as she tries to appreciate the weight of his words.

It isn't the first time Nik's been linked to someone romantically in the public eye – or even the tenth, for the matter – but it is the first time he shows real concern about how a lady of his may fare under media scrutiny. Also, the tone in his voice reveals his acute protectiveness of her. Another trait Rebekah had yet to see displayed by her brother.

"Very well then," the blonde primly says; her ponytail bobbing up and down as she nods, and accepts a glass of the Glenmorangie whisky. "To Bonnie. May she last long enough so I can finally meet the woman who has enchanted my brother so!"

All the four siblings raise their glasses; Kol hollering a _hear, hear! _

Balmoral becomes a little more bearable after that. And by _that_, he means a continuous intake of spirits.

* * *

**NIK (08:25): I must say, I am beginning to feel quite neglected, love.**

**BONNIE (08:26): Neglected? We chatted ****_yesterday_. You can't be this spoiled.**

**NIK (08:26): Has it slipped from your mind that I'm a prince? I am the definition of spoiled. As the heir, Elijah was raised to be bear the weight of the crown.**

**BONNIE (08:27): Now that you mention, I may have heard a thing or two about it.**

**NIK (08:28): And as such, I need my girlfriend to speak to me as much as possible. You should be glad, really.**

**BONNIE (08:28): Oh, glad for what, exactly?**

**NIK (08:29): I've been told by experts that members of the royal family tend to be isolated and aloof. I believe I've escaped this rather unfortunate trait.**

**BONNIE (08:29): I am grateful, even though you decided to wake me up for this.**

**NIK (08:30): Then allow me to redeem myself for this gaffe. It is terribly impolite to disturb one's sleep pattern.**

**BONNIE (08:30): Ok, I'm officially scared.**

**NIK (08:31): No need to be scared, love. My assistant will email you the details.**

**BONNIE (08:31): Details of what? 👀**

**NIK (08:32): It is meant to be a surprise, but I will disclose that I expect to see a procession of bikinis.**

**BONNIE (08:32): Bikinis? Should I ask?**

**NIK (08:33): No need to ask, just take extra special care in your task of packing.**

**BONNIE (08:33): Nik?**

**BONNIE(08:36): Are you seriously ignoring me?**

**NIK (08:37): Not ignoring you, love**

**NIK (08:37): I am merely not allowing you the opportunity to ask more questions and then say no.**

**BONNIE (08:38): So, you've decided to kidnap me?**

**BONNIE (08:38): I didn't think Prince Niklaus would be willing to take unsuspecting ladies to foreign places.**

**NIKLAUS (08:39): The media hardly paints an accurate version of me**.

* * *

As Bonnie has come to discover, some of the cheesy romantic movies are actually quite accurate in their depiction. Being whisked away to exotic locations _is_ part of the experience of dating an actual prince. At least, it's part of the job description of dating_ this _prince.

In one moment she's watching Barefoot Contessa while gulping down a strawberry milkshake, and the next, Bonnie's in literal paradise. White sand on her feet as she admires the crystalline blue water of the Caribbean Sea and a flute of champagne dangling from her fingers.

"Have I told you that you are far too invested in impressing me with grand gestures?" Bonnie asks; taking her eyes away from the pristine view to look at Klaus. With a white linen shirt, Ray-Ban aviators and mussed hair, he looks nothing like the royal family member that so often graces the covers of Daily Express or Daily Mail.

"Haven't I mentioned that I am a prince, Miss Bennett?" he says as a reply; lips curled in an easy smile that has yet to leave his face ever since she's stepped out of the helicopter. "We partake in Trooping every year, royal weddings and coronations. Monumental gestures are a bit of a House of Clarence specialty, I'm afraid."

"Then you're a crazy prince," she murmurs, leaning down to kiss him on the ruddy skin of his face. "My crazy prince."

Her crazy prince who has swept her away to a literal private island in the Virgin Islands with less than a day's notice.

"I have spent the last four weeks in Scotland, suffering through picnics and hunts," Klaus sighs in dramatic fashion, almost as if he's reliving a distressing experience. Bonnie rolls her eyes. "Do not begrudge me for taking the necessary steps to salvage this summer."

"I am positive you had the most dreadful summer, staying at a castle, and getting drunk on scotch while fishing," she says with sarcasm dripping from her voice; fingers running through his sun dyed hair.

"You haven't the faintest, love. Balmoral Estate certainly isn't large enough for Father and I. Getting pissed had a pivotal role in keeping my sanity, particularly because Mother insisted on having us play the part of the ideal family."

With no appropriate response to offer, Bonnie can only hum. Despite hearing some rumors about the cracks on the relationship between the Duke of Richmond and his second oldest son, she's never attempted to pry. There is no need to. Bonnie's willing to wait until he's ready to share his secrets with her.

"So this is the only way to make up for an unsatisfactory August is to sneak off to Necker Island?"

"The only way to make up for countless weeks apart, love," he corrects; his grin showing he doesn't at all find this plan a little too much. Of course he doesn't.

"You know I don't need this, right?" Bonnie asks and rushes to explain her words when she sees his eyebrows beginning to furrow in confusion. "No, not that! I mean, I don't need extravagant holidays. I would be just as happy if we were at Soho, having pizza and cocktails. You don't have to try to sweep me off my ugly feet all the time."

"But I do happen to like sweeping you off your feet, love, and they are hardly ugly," Klaus assures her; fiddling with the hem of her white cover up as he tries to put his thoughts in order. Not surprisingly, Bonnie is the only who has never shown interest in the opulence that surrounds his very existence. "I know you do not require it, but I wish to continue doing it."

"Why?"

"Because, in the recent future, you will be on the cover of every tabloid and I won't be able to properly protect you," he starts to say, remembering the main culprit for the end of his relationships. The press was relentless and the Palace has always been reticent in getting involved in such battles. "And I'm afraid you will resent me for it."

"So you decide to take me to foreign locations to make up for something that may or may not happen in the not so distant future?" Bonnie questions, chuckling when she sees the slight flush spread from Nik's face to his earlobes.

"I never stated my strategy to be faultless."

"You don't need to devise a strategy for me. We are a team," she promises him, interlacing their fingers together and bringing his hand to her lips for a kiss. Their eye contact never breaks and Bonnie almost feels like she's making an oath.

* * *

Fourteen months later, almost to the day, Klaus is the one saying these exact four words. This time, they're not facing a crystalline blue ocean and lush green palm trees, but a BBC interviewer instead.

* * *

**A/N: This discipline is really surprising to me, but this story is really fun to write, so here I am with another chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed with your suggestions for ridiculous headlines. I plan on using them in the future, and a shout out to the reviewer who said A**bby** and Jamie! They are definitely going to show up in this story. Let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**_PRINCE SNEAKS OFF TO PARADISE! IS IT A TRIP TO THE NEW IN-LAWS?_**

**_Prince Niklaus spotted leaving Necker Island after a summer with the family in Balmoral, stoking _**rumours**_ that he may actually be dating Holly Branson._**

By Avery Thomas

_It looks like the relationship between Prince Niklaus and an unnamed American ballerina was grossly exaggerated or just ran its course. After weeks of speculation that he would go public with his girlfriend during the summer, he surprised everyone by forgoing holiday with friends and joining the Queen and the rest of the family at Balmoral. Though Niklaus was seen joining his mother for a morning service at Crathie Kirk and enjoying himself with his siblings during a grouse hunt, he left the Scottish estate before everyone else. _

_An inside source claims it was thought that Klaus would go straight to London or perhaps join his longtime pals at their Spanish holiday in Palma de Mallorca. The insider adds that many were caught by surprise when pictures of the prince in a Caribbean island were published online. _

_The Caribbean Island in question? Necker Island, the home of Sir Richard Branson. At first, some believed the prince and his friends chose the luxury destination for its privacy – the cheapest room on the island comes at the price of five thousand dollars – but that theory was debunked when pictures of Marcellus Gerard enjoying Palma de Mallorca hit the internet. Now, it is being speculated that Prince Niklaus may have had a very special reason for snubbing his friends and hopping on a plane to a remote island._

_Some behind the scene believe that the reason is British billionaire's daughter, Holly Branson. Royal expert Mary Blake, commented on the possible match. "It would not be that unexpected, as the families are somewhat close. Sir Richard Branson was, of course, knighted by Queen Esther, and his son Sam attended Oxford with Prince Niklaus."_

_As usual, the Palace refused to comment on the Prince's personal life as did Holly Branson's rep. Without pictures or an official confirmation, one cannot entirely sure, but it would certainly be interesting to see a Branson join the royal family. _

* * *

After reading the ridiculous article, Bonnie is quick to come to a few deductions.

The first is merely an obvious realization on her part. While she adores London – miserable weather and all – she misses Necker Island dearly and more than expected. Just like Botswana, the island became their private version of paradise. A place where they could pretend his name doesn't come with a title and an HRH. A place where they could pretend they were just an ordinary couple. Where they would get tipsy on champagne and dance to Motown records by the poolside.

The second realization is one that Bonnie's known for a while but has tried to ignore. Going against any type of self-preservation, she's fallen in love with Niklaus. She was halfway there a couple of months ago, as she confessed to him during their escape to Botswana. After their summer vacation, Bonnie is sure of it. She's also sure she wants more date nights that consist of trying to teach him how to make grilled fish with mango salsa or watching the latest episode of Strictly.

Unfortunately, the third conclusion has the potential to muddle up conclusion number two. Despite assuring Nik she was strong enough to handle whatever is thrown her way, Bonnie finds that she is a bit terrified of having the press turn its lens on her.

Which, of course, is what happens in the following weeks.

* * *

The week starts surprisingly normal. Rehearsals for the new production of La Bayadère begin, and Bonnie finds herself immersed in her old routine. Early morning mat Pilates in the little studio down the street, rushing to Covent Garden for company class and grueling rehearsals with Mrs. Mason. It almost feels like her old life, her pre-Nik life, and it's quite refreshing. Instead of quietly fixating on whether the freaking Queen has a good opinion of her or not, she turns her attention to the scribbled notes that list her every mistake during the third act grand pas de deux.

Perfecting her balance in an arabesque attitude and her Italian fouéttes are within her control, unlike any matter to do with the House of Clarence. After all, she's seen what can happen to outsiders linked to the family. It's safer for her to just keep all of that (this royal _conundrum_, so to speak) at arms' length – and hopefully out of her mind- until they figure everything out.

It is just her luck that, as Bonnie is shimmying into striped white and grey legwarmers; someone taps her on the shoulder. A woman, pale and with dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, clears her throat before speaking.

"Miss Bennett? Her Royal Highness Princess Rebekah would like to have a word with you."

"Oh."

* * *

With perfect posture, just as perfect glossy, blonde hair and a chic yet subtle smokey eye makeup, Rebekah looks like she belongs on the cover of a Vogue magazine or a portrait hanging in the National Gallery. Which makes Bonnie feel equal parts of dazzled and inadequate as she fiddles with the pristine white linen napkin.

"Your Royal Highness," Bonnie starts to say, still unsure of the exact motive why Rebekah decided to invite her for tea at The Berkeley.

"Oh, there is no need to treat me with such deference, Bonnie. We are not currently surrounded by tedious courtiers," Rebekah says with a small smile and a dismissive wave of the hand, drawing a little chuckle out of Bonnie. "I know this must appear rather sudden to you, and I truly apologize for that."

"Well, I guess this was … unexpected," Bonnie replies, a bit unsure of how to respond.

Understatement of the year. Nobody who expects to go to a posh tea room in a Knightsbridge hotel chooses to wear skinny jeans and an old cowl neckline sweater. Bonnie is almost certain she would have been refused entry if not for her smiling, cheek-kissing, possibly-Stella McCartney-wearing, very royal companion.

"I just couldn't help my curiosity, to be quite honest," she explains; a dainty hand with perfectly manicured nails reaching out to choose a small pink cake shaped like the Miss Dior perfume bottle. "Oh, aren't these delightful? Little cakes inspired by Dior's most famous designs."

Bonnie, however, can't focus on the small and admittedly adorable confection because –

"Wait, _you_ were curious about me?" she wonders, wrapping her arms around herself in self-consciousness. For some reason, the thought of being the subject of Rebekah's interest makes her uncomfortable.

"Why, of course!" Rebekah replies with a pearly smile that reminds Bonnie of Klaus. Both of them are dangerously charming. "I just had to know more about the woman that has my brother acting so out of sorts."

"Out of sorts?" Bonnie repeats; both eyebrows furrowing as she tries to understand just what _out of sorts _could mean.

"For one, he agreed to go to Balmoral, which he hasn't done in years, and then sulked the entire time. I swear, he was worse than Henrik when he went through puberty," Rebekah complains before taking a sip of the jasmine white tea. "Not to mention, he was positively mysterious about you, it was infuriating!"

If her stomach wasn't already filled with anxious knots, Bonnie would have laughed at the way Rebekah actually grumbles. Dangerously charming and dangerously spoiled, just like Nik.

"It took me half a bottle of single malt whisky to get something out of him, he's so stubborn."

Rebekah shakes her head; a mischievous grin on her lips, perfectly coated by a deep pink lipstick. Bonnie allows herself to chuckle as she remembers receiving some very confusing texts from him. It would seem that her blue-blooded boyfriend is prone to drunk texting and for some weird reason, that doesn't surprise her at all.

"Oh, that would explain him waking me up with some unintelligible messages. I have you to blame for my dark circles!" Bonnie admonishes in a mock outraged voice, a little shocked at how quickly she was able to shed her self-consciousness.

"Since you've made the mistake of entering a relationship with Nik, I must warn you that this is hardly his most unorthodox practice," Rebekah comments with a small shrug, taking a small bite out of the jacket shaped chocolate biscuit. "Also, I do not know where you see dark circles. Even in this unflattering light, your skin health appears to be wondrous."

"Why does it feel that you are purposely complimenting me to distract from your previous comment?" Bonnie wonders as she cocks her head to the right.

"That's because I am, Bonnie," she admits; high ponytail whipping up and down as Rebekah nods. "Nik would be terribly cross with me if I managed to dissuade you from this relationship. I can, however, share some embarrassing stories."

In between polite bites of raspberry jam cakes, baked Camembert brioches, and chocolate biscuits, they share stories (some embarrassing, others incredibly endearing) and laugh louder than proper etiquette would dictate. As they decide to finally take a glass of Bollinger, the conversation turns to the subject of Bonnie and Klaus' relationship.

"I can't believe he actually sent you his official diary. What a nerd," the blonde snorts in a way that doesn't match the perfect aristocratic demeanor she naturally displays.

"It was sweet," Bonnie defends; her voice an airy murmur. "Believe it or not, your brother can be sweet. I don't know if he told you but he took me to-"

"Necker Island, I know," she finishes the champagne; looking way too pleased with herself. "I'd hate to sound conceited, but this was truly one of my better ideas. A surprise trip to the Caribbean always makes me feel divine. Perhaps that explains your bright and clear complexion."

"You were the one who planned this? Why?" Bonnie asks in surprise and just a tinge of embarrassment as she remembers just why that Caribbean getaway contributed to the most - as Caroline gushed when they facetimed yesterday- glowy and dewy skin ever.

"I told you, Nik was positively miserable and his awful mood was beginning to infect all of us. Besides, having Nik owe me a favor has proven to be beneficial before."

"This is where I am almost afraid to ask how you're going to collect this favor."

"Oh," she dismisses Bonnie's fears with a wave of hands and a noise that sounds like a _pfft. _"It will be harmless, I assure you. I can't have Niklaus become tabloid fodder once again."

"A bit too late for that," Bonnie mutters, remembering the multitude of online articles and tabloid headlines written about him in the past week.

(_Five things we love about the new it couple: Prince Niklaus and Holly Branson!_

_Prince Klaus may have met the in-laws at their private island. How did you meet yours?_

_The seven links between Prince Klaus and Holly Branson. How did they get together?_ )

"Uh, mea culpa?" Rebekah sheepishly admits, holding up one of the pink confections as if it is a peace offering. Bonnie accepts it, only because the raspberry mousse filled cake borders on addictive. "In my defense, I was trying to help. They had pictures of you two, so I had a friend _gently_ make them look another way. Holly is furious, of course."

"Isn't that a little, you know, unfair?" Bonnie asks, unsure on whether Rebekah running interference would be useful. "They are all on her when they should be on-"

"You?" She interrupts with an arched, perfectly groomed pale eyebrow. It is enough to make Bonnie feel just a little stupid. "Trust me, if it all goes to plan, in a few months you will be wishing they never knew your name. It's okay to indulge in self-preservation."

"It's just…" she trails off, draining the remaining inches of bubbly champagne. As a ballerina that got to the top of the pack despite _everything_, Bonnie knows how to be selfish. That trait, however, has yet to be completely ingrained in her. Her first instinct isn't self-preservation, but it looks like she will need more of it in the future. "I don't know any of this. I thought I could do it and then I see the way they're hounding her."

With more practice than one would expect from a princess born in a palace, Rebekah pours two more glasses of champagne and hands Bonnie the crystal flute. Accepting the unsaid suggestion, Bonnie takes an impolite gulp.

"Holly will be fine, this rubbish will blow over in a few weeks when her _real_ boyfriend returns from Japan. As for you," Rebekah states, once again presenting the tray with various treats; all pink and delicious. "You should enjoy the time you have as just Bonnie Bennett."

Bonnie hates how prophetic her words sound.

* * *

"I am willing to say that your cooking skills are marginally superior to mine," Klaus admits as he places the empty bowl on the sink, moving to wrap his arms around her waist.

"Mmm, marginally superior," she murmurs, shivering when his breath tickles her earlobe. "I forgot how wonderfully charming you can be. You come uninvited-"

"Carrying a very nice bottle of your favorite rosé," he interrupts to remind her, pointing to her wine-filled glass. "And of course, many would say that my company is quite delightful, some would even pay for it."

"For your company, not your cooking, which, by the way, leaves much to be desired," Bonnie says as she turns around just in time to catch the expression of mock outrage on his face. "Sorry, babe, but someone lied to you. They probably believed hurting the second-in-line's ego is detrimental to the monarchy."

"So, you admit to attempting to harm the monarchy by damaging my poor little feelings?"

"Eh, it will give you some character," she shrugs, patting him on the shoulder and jumping when the timer goes off. "Besides, I'm really nice to you, aren't I? You could be eating disgusting Pop-Tarts – I am still very confused about that, by the way – but no, I'm feeding you my famous peach cobbler."

Klaus leans against the stainless steel fridge and takes to admiring the pretty picture Bonnie makes. Donning a pair of bright pink oven mittens, she moves around the small kitchen with ease. In time with the music playing on the speakers (90's RnB, her favorite), Bonnie sways as she takes the tray out of the oven and tends to it. A sweet, buttery aroma fills the room, and it's so domestic he's captivated. After all, this setting is quite unfamiliar to him. Not even in the fading memories of his childhood can he remember such an intimate moment. So very simple, just the two of them barefoot in her flat's kitchen, and yet so foreign and wondrous. How can this, something so small, make him feel that joyful?

"Famous peach cobbler? Are we getting a tad cocky, Miss Bennett?" he asks, reaching out to steal a piece of the dessert. Much like his nannies used to do, she promptly slaps his hand away.

"Hands off, Clarence!" she chides, walking past him to grab the tub of vanilla ice cream. "If you must know, it is actually Gram's recipe, but it happens to be quite famous back in Mystic Falls."

"Oh, the illustrious Grams," he comments, noticing the way her eyes glimmer with joy when she mentions her grandmother. What a novel concept it is, that a mere allusion of one's relative can bring such glee. "Whenever will I have the pleasure of making her acquaintance?"

Two spoons in hand, Bonnie pauses for a split second before answering. "In the future, I guess."

"Why do I sense an abrupt change in your temperament? Should I be concerned?" Klaus wonders; furrowed eyebrows as he envelops her with his arms and pulling her back flush against his chest. "Surely you are not ashamed of taking me to meet the family. I'll have you know that many would consider me quite the catch."

Bonnie chuckles, a little amused at the nervous inflection on his voice.

"I know they would. However, I'm not quite sure how correct they would be in this assumption," she quips, turning her head to the side to plant a noisy kiss on his ruddy cheek. He relaxes after that.

Truth to be told, Bonnie has yet to bridge the gap – the wide gap – between her quiet life back in Mystic Falls and this new unimaginable reality. It is still as if she's navigating in two different worlds and she still can't put them together. So, as far as Grams is aware, she's dating "a posh British boy with a charming accent".

"Will you tell me more about her?" Klaus requests with curiosity; his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

"About Grams?" she asks in confusion. The subject of her family – and part of his, for that matter – has always been left unexplored. Too many unhealed wounds.

"Yes, my little prima," he says, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "Regale me with tales of your adventures with Grams."

So she does. Over helpings – one for her and two for him – of slightly melted Tahitian vanilla ice cream on peach cobbler and stolen kisses meant to distract her.

* * *

** PRINCE WATCH**

_Fan account created to keep track of the engagements and unofficial sightings of Prince Elijah, Prince Niklaus, Prince Finn, and Prince Kol. __Did you happen to catch a sighting of them? DM us!_

**CLARENCELOVER17**: just spotted Prince Niklaus in Chelsea. He got out of the car and entered a residential building.

**LOVETHEROYALS**:** CLARENCELOVER17** really?! Did you see who was with him? Who lives there?

**CLARENCELOVER17**: **LOVETHEROYALS** I couldn't see it! I took a pic, but won't post. Where do his friends live?

**HRHTASSY**: OMG, I was leaving for work this morning and also saw him in Chelsea! He KISSED a girl! I took a pic too. I'm freaking out!

**CLARENCELOVER17**: **HRHTASSY** Can you DM me? Let's compare the pics!

**HRHTASSY**: **CLARENCELOVER17** just sent you!

* * *

** TRENDING UK**

_Know which hashtags are trending right now on Twitter in the United Kingdom!_

1\. #BonnieBennett

2\. #PrinceNiklaus

3\. #RoyalKlonnie

* * *

A/N: I will admit that I'm proud of myself for keeping my self-imposed schedule! I tried to give you some Bonbekah, as I truly love their friendship and I don't know why, but Rebekah ambushing Bonnie with tea does sound like Rebekah to me. Twitter busted them, so this is where the reality of dating a Prince will hit Bonnie. The next chapter is almost done, so I hope I will be able to update it next Friday. Thanks for your reviews and I would love to hear from you.


	6. Chapter 6

**PRINCE WATCH AND ROYAL WATCHERS**

_**A group of avid online fans broke the biggest royal news of the year and outscooped seasoned reporters**_

**_By: Liz Green_**

_Unless you've been hiding in a cave or attempting to complete the fad news and social media detox, you already know Prince Klaus was spotted kissing a woman in plain daylight, causing the internet to go wild. Unlike many tabloids have been reporting in an incessant manner for the past two weeks, that woman is not Holly Branson._

_While it's come as a surprise to many to discover that Prince Klaus' girlfriend is a black American woman – something I'm sure will receive enthusiastic coverage – another factor caught my attention. The story that Klaus was dating an American ballerina was broken months ago by Erin Matthews, but not even the reputable expert with inside sources was able to do what this online group managed to do by accident. Discover Bonnie Bennett's identity. _

_As a matter of fact, all the reporters who boast about having direct contact with sources from the Palace were taken by surprise when they woke up to see Bonnie Bennett's name along with the hashtag RoyalKlonnie trending on Twitter._

_The origin of the breaking news is what came as a resounding shock to the famed reporters of the royal rota. Who got the scoop of the year? Two women in their twenties who run a fan account dedicated to chronicling the whereabouts of the younger members of the House of Clarence._

"_We're amazed by this," Rachel Tanner, one of the administrators of the account, gushes. "We created this because so many people love the princes, but never expected something like this. The most we get is a story about them being spotted at a restaurant or playing polo."_

_What does Rachel think about Prince Klaus and Bonnie Bennett?_

"_I think it's great! We love a royal couple."_

_Needless to say, it is a busy time for royal watchers everywhere. _

_And this_, Bonnie thinks with a groan as she slides the comforter over her head, _is how she got outed by Twitter. _

* * *

Surprising exactly nobody, it takes a little less than thirty-six hours following the _Twitter Tattling_ incident – so aptly named by Rebekah – for the British press to regroup from the shock and start their never-ending coverage. Last time Bonnie's checked – and she did go through a twelve hour long obsessive phase of scrolling through articles and analyzing every word as if they were written about someone else – at least five online tabloids have taken to uploading articles about her by the hour. All of this online (and print and television, how can she forget the television?) furor is bad but would be bearable if not for the small army of photographers that have taken to skulking around Chelsea in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her. After some coaxing from Nik, Bonnie's decided to stay put and hide out in the safety of her apartment.

"It could be worse, I guess," Caroline comments in an overly peppy demeanor that is accompanied by a bright smile and a high pitched voice.

Balancing the phone in one hand as she puts the kettle on – a habit she's picked up from Nik, whose few domestic endeavors include making tea and pretending to cook – Bonnie snickers in cynicism

"Grams found out my boyfriend is a prince through GMA, my dad forgot how phones work and I'm pretty sure my neighborhood is crawling with paparazzi!" She points out, struggling to keep her voice free from panic.

"Okay, the situation isn't exactly ideal," Caroline concedes with a shrug. The placating grin, however, remains on her face. Showering Bonnie with optimism is a tried and true strategy, after all. "But, hey, the picture of you Good Morning America and the Today show picked out was amazing."

"Ugh, don't remind me!" Bonnie snaps, starting to feel way too sorry for herself to properly appreciate the good effort Caroline is putting on.

Being on television or having her photo on a magazine cover is hardly a novelty for Bonnie. The media gave her some attention when she made history by being promoted to principal, and when she partnered with Nike a few years ago. She can handle standing under the warm spotlight of the Opera while sweaty and with bloody toes; she can handle doing interviews for her blog. However, the spectacle Bonnie finds herself in is different.

No adjective can properly describe it, other than overwhelming, suffocating and out of control. It was easier when all the stories were about some nameless and faceless American ballerina. Now, _her _face is plastered everywhere, _her _story is being scrutinized and she doesn't know how to deal with it.

There's not exactly a self-help eBook (Something like _Dating a prince for dummies _or _Being hounded by the media 101 _would be useful in this situation) available for purchase at the Kindle store.

The kettle starts to whistle, interrupting Bonnie's wandering thoughts and jostling her back to reality.

"Sorry, Care," Bonnie apologizes as she pours the steaming water over the special blend of Jasmine tea Rebekah gifted her. "I am possibly on the verge of a breakdown and being cooped up here doesn't help."

Bonnie hears a rustle of sheets and an irritated _ow,_ _Caroline! _coming from Tyler on the other side of the line.

"What do you need me to do? I think I can still book a flight to London for this evening," Caroline starts to say, her mind already starting to make plans. "My credit card is maxed out, but Tyler can-"

"Care, you're not catching a plane to London!" Bonnie interrupts with a burst of nervous laughter and a grateful smile. Even with the Atlantic Ocean separating them, Caroline is still her most loyal friend. She sighs and resumes the strangely therapeutic task of preparing her tea. "I'll be alright, okay? I just need to weather the storm for two more days and it will pass."

"You sure, Bon? I don't want to sound more dramatic than usual, but this is looking big. Like big, big."

"Yeah, I'm sure," she replies, ignoring the anxious fluttering on the pit of her stomach and the way her words come out like a question instead of an assertion. Not even her own subconscious believes her. "I am stocked up on snacks and rosé. That's all I need to survive."

"Call or text me anytime you need, okay? Love you."

"Love you too," she says before disconnecting the call.

Bonnie clutches the handle of her mug with one hand and pads to the couch. It is out of sheer habit that she turns on the television for some background noise. Big mistake.

"_And now for some royal gossip, Prince Klaus was spotted kissing American ballerina Bonnie Bennett. Bennett is the first-"_

Rushing to grab the remote control, she flicks off the television. Right on cue, her phone starts beeping – or screeching – again. With an exhausted groan and a sense of hesitation, Bonnie looks down at the screen.

_15 missed calls, 100 new messages._

Dating a prince? Somehow overrated.

* * *

Standing on an antique carpet with an elaborate design that probably dates back from Queen Victoria's reign, Bonnie is reminded of the time she went to a guided tour of Buckingham Palace. It was five years ago, right after she signed her contract with the Royal Ballet and rented a tiny one-bedroom apartment near Covent Garden. Grams and Caroline, equally excited to have the complete tourist experience, bought tickets and insisted on her presence.

This time, however, there is no tour guide parroting historical information, cautioning them to mind the furniture or rude tourists pushing her to get a better view of the throne. She is actually in one of the private drawing rooms or parlors – Bonnie could never truly understand the particularities of castles and their architecture – in Kensington Palace. Though better than being locked in her apartment and afraid to open her curtains, being in such an imposing room feels ridiculous. High vaulted ceilings, walls lined with oil painting portraits, everything is so surreal that for a moment Bonnie wonders if she's not trespassing. It's Nik's warm hand on the small of her back that brings her back to reality.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs, rubbing her back in a soothing manner and pressing a glass of something onto her hand.

"Uh, ask me again later?" Bonnie pleads as she accepts the drink. Takes one healthy gulp and flinches when the bitter taste hits her tongue. "You trying to knock me out?"

"Your lack of faith in me is positively dispiriting, I must tell you," Klaus says; an amused smile as he takes the crystal glass back and places it on the oak coffee table. Bonnie is overtaken with the urge to tell him to use a coaster but ignores it. "I would not have sent for you if that was my intention."

"Sent for me?" Bonnie repeats, laughing at the ridiculousness of his statement. "Your blue blood is showing. Am I your royal mistress now?"

"While my ancestors liked to indulge, I believe such practice is frowned upon for the current members of the House of Clarence," Klaus states, pulling Bonnie closer; both hands on her waist as he breathes in the lingering scent of blackberries in her cologne. "Besides, you are far too obstinate be a royal mistress."

It's obvious he's attempting to charm her into forgetting just why she's in Kensington Palace. Even though her mind is still a jumbled mess of anxiety, Bonnie will let him try.

Just as she's about to retort, a blonde woman enters the room. Wearing a professional navy blue dress and carrying a thick folder, she looks as exhausted as Bonnie feels.

"Impeccable timing, Camille! You continue to be of great service to the Crown," he greets in a jovial voice, chuckling when Camille rolls her eyes and makes no effort to hide her annoyance. "Bonnie, this is Camille, my private secretary-"

"_Temporary_ private secretary," Camille interrupts to correct him, reaching a hand out for Bonnie to shake. Klaus, in turn, dismisses her correction with a wave of a hand. "Klaus believes I have some sort of misplaced loyalty to this job."

"Camille here has been my _temporary _private secretary for almost two years," Klaus explains with a smirk, delighted to dismantle her claims. "It is rather unfortunate that she remains in denial about this matter."

"That is because you refuse to accept any of the replacements suggested," Camille points out as she almost collapses on an upholstered chair. Bonnie can't help but give her a sympathetic smile. "Anyhow, I spent the better part of the morning _and _afternoon speaking to journalists, if I can even call them that."

"Oh, yes, the persistent delusion of those who work for tabloids and pretend they are at the forefront of journalism," Klaus snarks. "And what came out of such conversations?"

"They're going ahead," she says with an exasperated tone. "They claim the public interest outweighs the risk of harming their relationship with us. Most of it is speculative drivel, but a few of them are concerning."

"Concerning?" Bonnie asks; dread inching up her spine. At first, she was content with allowing the more experienced people handling whatever there is to it, but this sounds alarming. "How?"

"My main concern is the continuous publication of these pictures," Camille explains, opening the leather folder and taking two copies of said pictures.

Unlike the grainy photo of them sharing a kiss that has been plastered on every paper, this one is clear and shows _everything_. The details of his dark grey wool coat, the platinum bracelet on her right wrist as she cups his cheek, his cheeky smile leans down for another kiss and a perfect view of her building.

"As you can see, this has the potential to expose Miss Bennett's home address," Camille says carefully, aware of Klaus' smoldering rage beneath the seemingly calm surface. "I've contacted the solicitor, but it would be more helpful if we had the press secretary with us."

"And he was rather opposed to this proposition," Klaus states, no verbal reply necessary for him to make conclusions. "Of course."

Kingstone, his mother's press secretary, is allergic to scandals and would sooner become a symbol of the Republican movement than getting tangled in a battle with the press.

"So, what's next?" Bonnie wonders as she fiddles with the hem of her cashmere sweater.

"We'll file for an injunction," Camille answers; uncertain eyes betraying the assurance that she attempts to convey in her voice.

Klaus snorts in response as he paces back and forth the room; both hands shoved on his jeans' pockets and resembling an agitated wolf prior to attacking. Standing on opposite sides of the expansive room, Bonnie and Camille share a look, neither of them certain of what to say next. Though they are privy to a side of him not shown to the public, this is an entirely undiscovered layer.

It takes a swing of the – rather embellished – door and the Prince of Wales to cross the threshold to snap both Bonnie and Camille out of their stupor and into action. Well, as much action as a curtsy requires. Despite years of curtain calls, Bonnie botches the motion when the tip of her right sneaker gets caught on the carpet. Her nerves may have _something _to do with her gracefulness' disappearing act, but Bonnie blames it on that damn antique damask carpet.

"No need to curtsy, Miss Bennett," the prince informs her, opting to shake her hand; a more informal and unexpectedly warm greeting. "I am not yet this insecure to require accordance to protocol in such occasions. It is rather dismaying that we have to meet in this particular circumstance."

"Quite," Klaus agrees with a dry tone that makes Bonnie feel a little awkward, but Elijah can only chuckle. "What brings you here, brother?"

"Stephen saw fit to inform me that you have contacted the solicitor," Elijah answers, adjusting the mother-of-pearl cufflinks on his white dress shirt. "He was rather alarmed."

Used to seeing him in ceremonial robes and surrounded by pageantry, Bonnie is just a tad star-struck. She may have developed a certain lackadaisical attitude towards the monarchy, but this is the future King of England. She watched his wedding on television two years ago, for goodness' sake.

"So you have decided to pay a visit to dissuade me from that decision," Klaus concludes; keeping his facial expression placid and perfectly blank.

If Elijah is bothered by the clear accusation in his brother's voice, he doesn't show it. Instead, he picks invisible lint from the lapel of his – potentially expensive and custom tailored – suit. It is as if the room could catch fire and they would remain impervious. The true embodiment of stiff upper lip.

"I am not foolish enough to believe I have the means to dissuade you, Niklaus," Elijah replies, both hands on his trousers' pockets. Surprisingly, these words are enough to mollify Klaus, and the younger sibling moves from his previous spot to lean against the high back of the armchair close to Bonnie. "Besides, I did tell you I would support you in this, didn't I?"

The moment between the two brothers is brief and quiet, consisting of exchanged glances and a nod from Klaus. It's so tender that Bonnie has to avert her eyes, even though she wants to know what _this _is.

"I talked to Stephen and you have the liberty to make use of communication office should you need it," Elijah informs, snickering when he sees Klaus' eyes widen in surprise.

"Kingstone is opposed to it, though."

"Well, that is why I have my staff and Mother has hers," he explains; the gold signet ring on his right pinky scintillating when hit by the sunlight. "One of the perks of being the Prince of Wales."

Bonnie does not know if it's the sight of his signet ring on his left pinky or the oil paintings depicting landscapes of the bucolic English countryside or the century, but suddenly everything around her feels incredibly aristocratic. As if she was placed in an episode of The Crown or Victoria by mistake. A character that doesn't belong in

"Well, I must be off," Elijah announces, clapping both hands together and snapping Bonnie out of her royalty-induced daze. "It is rather a shame that I cannot stay for longer, because I need to know more about the woman who has managed the herculean task of restoring my brother's senses. Gia and I would love to have you two for dinner at Clarence House."

"Of course," Bonnie agrees; a little impressed with her ability to keep a collected voice even though her mind is a mess of jumbled thoughts. It's a wonder she knows her own name. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"I'm afraid I am the one who should be expressing my gratitude," Elijah says; his lips upturned in a discreet yet delighted smile. In that split second, he resembles nothing more than a proud brother; the well-constructed figure of the Prince of Wales taking a backseat to another role in his life. "A few months ago, Niklaus was behaving like a proper cad. It is rather pleasant to witness the change you brought forth in him."

"That's all him," Bonnie assures as she inches her head in Klaus' direction and waggles her eyebrows at him. "A diamond in the rough."

"I would consider myself a perfectly cut diamond, love," he replies with a hint of indignation in his voice.

"Of course you would, Nik," she retorts, resembling a patient mother humoring her small child. Which prompting laughter from both Elijah and Camille and a pointed look from Klaus.

_Behave, love _is what he wordlessly pleads with his blue eyes and the pads of his fingers touching the silver of exposed skin on her lower back.

"Oh, Miss Bennett," Elijah says as he cups his hands together in joyful anticipation. "I believe your arrival is just what we needed."

* * *

"So, you're really a prince," Bonnie breathes, voice a little bewildered as her mind continues to work to process the events of the day.

At eight in the morning, she was locked in her apartment and trying to weather the upcoming storm. Six hours later, she was being whisked into Kensington Palace by protection officers and then talking to the future King of England. Despite becoming somewhat used to Nik' little (read: huge) surprises like Botswana and Necker Island, this is a whole 'nother level.

"I was unaware this fact was in dispute," he replies, peeling his eyes from the colorful picture that the blooming geraniums and begonias make. As usual, his lips curl in a smile when he focuses on her.

Illuminated by the soft sunlight filtering through the arched arbour of the Cradle Walk, she looks utterly captivating.

"I know!" Bonnie says, crinkling her nose in confusion when she can't quite figure out her own thoughts. "But being here, in a palace, with people bowing to you, your private secretary, and the next King of England...you're a prince."

Without a better explanation, Bonnie just shrugs. A pink blush warms up her face as she stands there, feeling a bit like a pathetic little girl. Was it just two days ago that they were in her apartment, drinking wine, cooking mac and cheese and having sex on the couch? It truly feels like a lifetime has passed since that moment.

Running a hand through his uncombed hair, Klaus remains silent. He's been in this exact position a few times before; when his title and position proved to be overwhelming to others. In a way, he's surprised Bonnie was able to ignore his princely side and focus on _him _for so long. He's also surprised with the way his stomach churns in anxiety at the mere possibility of her being overwhelmed, of her leaving.

"And now that you realize it," he starts to say; clearing his throat and trying to conceal any sign of uneasiness. "Do you regret _this?"_

This is how it goes, living in this gilded fishbowl. After a while, the gold paint starts to rust off and they notice that having their every move scrutinized by millions of people isn't really worth it.

"Our relationship?" Bonnie asks; eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement as if he's just asked the most inane question. "Of course not!"

The relief that flows through his vein is immediate and palpable as the muscles of his shoulders relax and he expels a harsh breath. This involuntary reaction, of course, leaves him shaken all over again. Bloody hell, it has not been that long for him to be this distraught. For his heart to be racing at the mere possibility of her pulling back.

Ever the careful, she takes him by the hand and guides him to the old wooden bench near a flowerbed of bright pink geraniums. Her comforting hand over his as they sit down doesn't escape his attention.

"You have to understand that I'm bound to freak out some times. One of these times is when I see my face in every single morning tv show or when it dawns on me that my boyfriend lives at Kensington Palace-"

"In a one-bedroom flat, if it helps," Klaus interrupts to add, smiling when she rolls her eyes.

"It really doesn't," Bonnie replies, sighing after a brief silent moment. "Right now it's just a little hard to absorb this side of you."

"My aristocratic and princely side?" he asks, bringing her hand to his lips for a kiss. "I can assure you that is only about thirty percent of me. A reasonable number, wouldn't you agree?"

Bonnie can only hum in distraction as she rests her head on his shoulder. Staring ahead, she savors the privileged view to the Sunken Garden. Without the public strolling around, the chirping birds and running water from the fountain are the only sounds to fill the silence.

"I would disagree with that percentage," she murmurs. He truly has no idea just how much this 'princely, aristocratic' side is a part of him. "Tell me something about you."

"Something about me?" Klaus repeats; a little taken aback by the request. "Such as?"

"Tales from Eton or Oxford, more about your polo matches, I don't know," Bonnie rambles, gesturing with both hands as she tries to find the right words. "Anything. I want to know _you."_

In a subconscious way, she's been compartmentalizing him. Objectively speaking, Bonnie understands he's His Royal Highness Prince Niklaus. She sees him online in his engagements, knows his royal protection officers by name and notices the deferential treatment he receives every time they're out. Yet, seeing him in this element - a natural habitat for him and so very foreign to her – is unnerving and it shouldn't be so.

"I would say one of my most notable memories to this day involves my father drunkenly telling me I might be a fruit of my mother's indiscretion. It was a rather gauche incident."

His voice is detached as he lets out a mirthless chuckle. Bonnie, not raised to display the same decorum, freezes in absolute shock. What is the acceptable way to react in this situation, after all? Out of all the possible stories she expected to hear, this is not one of them.

"Nik…" she whispers, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his arm.

"Oh, no need to shed tears for me," he pleads, wiping away the teardrops Bonnie was trying to blink away before he could notice. "Rest assured, I am lawfully begotten, as they say."

His words, so incredibly ceremonial, sound misplaced in this conversation and yet, so typical of him. He's acting, Bonnie notices when she recognizes his strained, barely-there smile. It reminds her of the stilted expression on the corps de ballet during the fourth act of Swan Lake, when they are exhausted but need to pretend they're not minutes away from falling apart. She wants to know more – who wouldn't be curious about the Queen of England herself being unfaithful? – but she keeps any more questions that pop up to herself. All in due time.

"You must believe me a terribly drab chap," Klaus assumes; his tone apologetic as he kisses her forehead and feels lighter than ever before. "Certainly you were expecting a livelier story."

"No!" Bonnie rushes to exclaim; voice raspier than usual and an urge to reassure him. "I wanted to know _you _and any story you may want to tell me. Lively or not."

Her words, murmured with a blend of candor and pure warmth, surprise him. Despite their attempts to show the English people a softer side of the British monarchy, family affection has never been a priority or an expectation for the Clarences. Bonnie, of course, completely shatters that. He clears his throat; hoping it will distract him from the way his chest tightens up.

"I truly hope this side of me, combined with the weight of my less than ideal family does not scare you off," Klaus comments; a part of him afraid of her response.

"Well, I guess I did survive an ambush tea with your sister, met your brother and I still haven't balked," Bonnie reminds him with a shrug and a cheeky grin.

"Yes, you did," he says, returning the grin with an appreciative nod. Many a man has cowered in fear of Rebekah, so your ability to handle her is greatly admired. Not that I am surprised, you are made of stronger stuff. I can already imagine you interacting with some of the priggish politicians from Parliament. It would be a marvelous sight to see!"

"That sounds like a really traumatizing event, to be honest," Bonnie laughs, almost shuddering at the thought of being in a room with British politicians.

"For them, I'd wager. Lord Dawlish still hasn't recovered from an encounter with Rebekah at a garden party."

"At a garden party?" Bonnie asks with a giggle and raised eyebrows. Maybe this world of his is completely different from what she's envisioned.

"At Buckingham Palace's gardens no less. Mother was indeed furious," Klaus says; lips curled in a wide grin as the memory of that day replays in his mind. Wrinkling his nose, he turns his attention back to Bonnie. "Your turn, love. Tell me something. Perhaps something not as dreadful as my story. An embarrassing anecdote will suffice."

Bonnie sighs in quiet contentment, tracing his face and scratching the prickly stubble covering his jaw with short, manicured nails. Even with all the turmoil surrounding them – 24-hour press and social media is a bitch - they're still in their bubble. This time, it is at the Sunken Garden instead of a room at Shoreditch House. Their surroundings – the perfectly manicured landscape and the familiar red bricks of the Palace behind them – cast an official feel to it. They're not in a clandestine relationship anymore. Not confined to just exotic destinations or private locations. They're in the public eye now and it should be enough to make her run for the hills, but she doesn't want to leave.

"I love you," Bonnie finally whispers; the words flowing out of her lips, just as smooth as the old aged whisky he enjoys so much. This time, there's no anxiety clinging to her bones, no blood rushing to her ears. Only a peculiar sense of serenity.

As it should be. Falling in love with him is just an inevitable conclusion to the night when he lit up her cigarette in a dimly lit club. At that time, she could hardly imagine this scene stitched into her future. Now, Bonnie can't imagine being in another place or with someone else.

"That is a rather fascinating story," he starts to say in a teasing tone as he rubs the back of her hand with a thumb. Bonnie feels her cheeks. "And I must say, great minds think alike."

"Oh, do tell, Your Royal Highness," Bonnie teases back; her fluttering dark lashes framing bright green eyes as she looks up at him.

"You see, Miss Bennett, I find myself irrevocably and embarrassingly in love with you," he confesses in a raspier tone than usual.

"Embarrassingly?" she wonders, leaning forward until the distance between their faces is cut to just a few inches.

"Oh, truly embarrassingly. Had I been the firstborn, I believe I would offer you St. Edward's crown," Klaus says, the slightest touch of humor that tints his voice contrasting with the dead serious look on his face.

"I'm afraid I'll have to say no to the crown," she laughs at the absurd suggestion; a voice in her head wondering if any of this is actually real.

"It is quite a cumbersome thing," he concedes with a nod. "Perhaps a smaller tiara would be a better token of my love."

"I think one of those smoked salmon sandwiches would be a _wonderful_ token of affection," she suggests; more than happy to redirect him from any subject that includes jewelry that costs more than a year's rent. Besides, those sandwiches should be proclaimed a national treasure.

"Anything for you, love."

They spend the rest of the evening on his "cozy" one-bedroom apartment. Eat more sandwiches, drink half a bottle of Bollinger and thoroughly enjoy the very high thread count sheets. It is almost enough to make her forget about the brewing storm outside the Palace's grounds.

* * *

**A/N: I'm back with a new chapter. A few weeks later (I got a little stuck in the last scene), but this one is a little longer and has an extra layer of fluff, so I hope you appreciate it. Bonnie's finally starting to realize what it's like to date a prince, and the media will not let up any time soon. Reading your suggestions for messy tabloids headlines is always fun and inspiring, so tell me if you have any ideas!**


	7. Chapter 7

_**BON OF THE BALL?**_

_By Hannah Evans _

_Even though the public – or any well__-__sourced reporter, for the matter – has yet to receive an official or unofficial confirmation of Bonnie Bennett being in a relationship with Prince Niklaus, the interest in Miss Bennett continues to grow at a rapid speed. Just weeks after having her identity revealed, the American ballerina has become the most googled person in the UK and US, beating celebrities like Kim Kardashian and Taylor Swift. The question "Who is Bonnie Bennett?" was typed so many times that Google wondered if bots were involved. They weren't. _

_Bennett, who is originally from a small town called Mystic Falls in Virginia, is no stranger to notoriety. Three years ago, she made history when she became the first African American to be promoted to principal dancer in the Royal Ballet. Soon after, she released a clothing line with Nike, which sold out in record time. _

_The ballerina is also popular and active in social media, a trait we so rarely see among any of the royal girlfriends. Sage Knatchbull, Prince Finn's longtime girlfriend__,__ shut down her Instagram account after allegedly receiving a call from the Palace. _

_This is yet another point that distinguishes her from the ever so exclusive group of __royal __girlfriends. Unlike Lady Katherine, Aurora and Sage, all of them the epitome of docile upper__-__class socialites, Bennett is not afraid of speaking her mind, especially in the online sphere. With three million followers – a number that keeps climbing up at an exponential rate - on __Instagram__ and a popular lifestyle blog named The Barre, she routinely discusses controversial topics like politics and racial inequality and interacts with fans and dance enthusiasts. _

_Boasting remarkable yet understated charisma, a charming smile and true life and work experience – instead of the usual part-time internship – Bennett is __hardly__ the __type of__ woman one expects to see linked to a royal family member. Which__, of course,__ makes her even more alluring to the public._

_Whether Bennett's presence will be accepted by archaic courtiers -or if the relationship will even be confirmed – remains to be seen_.

The answer to the first question posed by Hannah Evans – who quickly becomes one of Bonnie's reporters – becomes obvious a year later, a few weeks after Nik slides the humongous engagement ring on her finger. No, the ancient courtiers never got around to accepting her presence. Not that it mattered in any way.

* * *

Despite having the smallest sliver of truth to it, Bonnie realizes Lifetime and Hallmark princess movies are very inaccurate.

In the flicks, the exchange of _those three little words _was always followed by a sweet kiss and a happily ever after. The lead woman is swept off her feet and then taken to a glitzy palace by the prince and then attends an equally glitzy ball.

There are no screaming paparazzi with their lenses pointed at the commoner slash love interest or hundreds of new texts and emails before morning yoga. Usually, the fictional transition from an unknown private person to media's favorite subject is smooth and easy.

Bonnie's experience, of course, is nothing like it. Unlike the beginning of their courtship, easy and effortless, her introduction to the fabled monster that is the British press is nothing short of unpleasant.

A nice phone call from the Prince of Wales' press secretary and his solicitor may have dissuaded the papers from publishing her pictures, but did nothing to dampen their eagerness to uncover every single detail about her life. The informal confirmation – apparently, employing the use of a white-shoe law firm is just as significant as an official statement – has only served to entice their interest even more.

Such interest is enough to bring out a horde of photographers, one from each agency in London, with the sole intent of capturing her every move. And unfortunately, they don't seem to mind standing outside on the miserable English weather for hours to no end just for a chance to a glimpse of her.

"Oh, darling, it's quite the circus out there," a statuesque black woman announces as she enters the room, almost floating on her five-inch black pumps. "If not for my sunglasses, I would have gone blind for a moment."

"Celeste!" Bonnie exclaims as she leaps from the chair to hug her friend. "I thought you were in New York. What are you doing here?"

Pushing her round oversized sunglasses to the top of her head, Celeste Dubois greets Bonnie with a kiss in each cheek**.**_ A terribly continental habit that I have yet to break. You don't mind, do you, darling? _She said when they were first introduced at an Opera gala years ago.

It was friendship at first meeting, something that absolutely surprised Bonnie. Despite their one similarity – two black women in positions not expected of them – they had little in common. While Bonnie was still trying to learn her way around the city and eating cold takeout in her small apartment after five-hour rehearsals, Celeste was London's darling and socializing with England's mythical upper class at "smart" soirees in Mayfair and Soho.

"You know me," she says as she takes off her navy blue coat and drapes it over the back of the chair. "I'm quite particular about my designs and could hardly be dallying around in another continent."

"Oh," Bonnie mutters, realizing that Celeste may very well be there just for business, as the costume designer for the new ballet production.

"Also, what is a girl to do when she turns on the telly and realizes that one of her dearest friends has failed to tell her she's dating a prince?" Celeste wonders in feigned confusion; dark red lips stretched in a smile when she notices the pink blush tinting Bonnie's cheeks. "I would say that is in poor form, allowing Good Morning America to break the news."

"If it makes you feel any better," Bonnie offers with an embarrassed little grin. "I also couldn't personally break the news to Grams or my dad. So, you're part of a very exclusive group."

"I would say that is impossibly cold, Miss Bennett, but it does indeed make me feel better," Celeste admits. "Now, you must tell me everything. Have you met his family? I remember having the most embarrassing crush on Elijah when I was a teenager. A good thing nothing came out of it. Being a princess is a rather gruesome and thankless job, I'd say."

The nervous laughter that Bonnie tries – and fails – to stifle is enough to earn a suspicious glance and Celeste's signature _"you can't hide anything from me"_ arched eyebrows. Her ability to interpret the smallest of gestures is still terrifying to Bonnie.

"What?" Bonnie asks, feeling exposed despite wearing the thick merino wool sweater over her leotard.

"Oh, darling," Celeste breathes out as she brings a dainty hand to rest on her chest. "Here I was thinking you were merely engaging in a meaningless fling with Niklaus, which admittedly, has the potential to be quite fun."

"Fun," Bonnie repeats, overly enunciating the one-syllable word as if it was foreign to her. It certainly sounds a bit foreign when coming from Celeste and her penchant for ten dollar words.

"Yes, fun, exciting, thrilling. Adjectives to describe the action of sneaking around with a royal prince," Celeste explains with a flick of her wrist that turns into a wagging index finger pointed in Bonnie's direction. "Which is precisely what you are _not _doing, Miss Bennett. Getting caught is hardly part of the plan."

"Oh, so you have experience in that arena?" Bonnie asks, hoping to shift Celeste's attention to any other subject than the one she sniffed out in less than ten minutes. The other woman doesn't take the bait, though. She simply offers Bonnie a cheeky grin and a shrug.

"Just a tad," she says, picking invisible lint off her black silk shirt. "Spanish and Swedish royals are a lovely pastime for the summer holidays, but Niklaus is more than that, isn't he? I can almost see the love seeping from your invisible pores, Bonnie."

Without the need to keep up the pretenses, Bonnie relaxes and looks up at Celeste with the small smile that always appears on her face whenever she thinks about Nik. Gods, it's almost like she's reverted to schoolgirl status. And by that, she means that annoying girl in high school who wouldn't shut up about her new guy.

"You're right, as always," Bonnie concedes with a slight childish grumble. "It's stopped being a fling months ago." _More precisely a few weeks after their first date, but who's keeping track?_

"I thought as much," Celeste says with a pensive nod; her mind becoming filled with plans and strategy. "Now it is imperative that we meet for dinner after this. My best ideas come to me when I have an enormous plate of moules-frites and at least two glasses of white wine."

"Your best ideas?" Bonnie scoffs with a shake of the head, not sure what to make of Celeste's words. Not the first time it's happened and she doubts it will be the last. "You're acting like we need to come up with a battle strategy or something."

"Tell me," Celeste starts to say; her red lips returning to that cocky, know-it-all grin she wears it so well. "How many emails have you received from reporters in the past two days?"

Her stomach crumples, filling Bonnie with a faint nauseous sensation as she thinks of the 57 new emails she's received just _this morning. _Most of them from tabloids requesting an interview or a short statement. As much as she would like to tell herself otherwise and just ignore everything related to the press, Celeste isn't exactly wrong.

"After Elijah got married, all the attention turned to Niklaus. He became _the_ prince to get, and now, a black American woman is dating him. In their minds, this wasn't supposed to happen. They're probably steaming as they type their countless articles."

"At the risk of sounding naïve, I have to ask. What do you think they'll do?" Bonnie questions; eyebrows furrowed as her mind tries to anticipate the possible scenarios. Unsurprisingly, none of them sound appealing.

"They'll try to chew you up and spit you out," Celeste states with an unruffled attitude, cringing just a little when she notices the shadow of trepidation that crosses Bonnie's face.

"Oh, that's a comforting prospect," Bonnie comments, unsure whether the situation warrants a nervous chuckle or a burst of tears. Aware that she still has a photo shoot scheduled for the day, Bonnie chooses the former. Swollen eyes and bright flashes do not go together, after all. "Being thoroughly consumed by the media does not sound terrifying."

Celeste's practical demeanor melts into one of genuine sympathy as she realizes just how out of her depth Bonnie is. As any normal person would be when so unceremoniously pushed under a giant magnifying lens. In a matter of days, Bonnie's become one of the most famous women in western society.

"Being consumed by the media is the ill-fated destiny of many," Celeste states with an ominous tone and a nod, before schooling her expression to a pleasant grin with ease. Bonnie would be lying if she said she wasn't impressed with her chameleon abilities. "Fortunately, you have me and I refuse to allow such a thing to come to fruition. Now, shall we take a look at your costume? My sketch for your third act tutu was absolutely fabulous and I can't wait to see how it's turning out."

Even though Celeste's sudden interest in the activity at the costume department is enough to give her whiplash, Bonnie can't help but smile. Moments like these make her quite relieved that she has at least one friend with specific knowledge on how to handle this beast. She suspects it will come handy sooner than later.

* * *

_**Buzz **__**about**__** Bennett**_

_What's new on Bonnie Bennett?_

_Though Bonnie has yet to be spotted again with Prince Klaus, the ballerina was seen with Celeste Dubois on Thursday. The designer and stylist, who is behind the costumes of Royal Ballet's new La Bayadere production, returned to London after New York Fashion Week and was out and about with longtime boyfriend William Thynn, Viscount Weymouth. It looks like she also took some time for a girls night out, taking Bonnie to Balthazar, the signature French restaurant in Covent Garden. _

_Pairing dark skinny jeans from J. Brand with a beige cashmere turtleneck sweater and suede Gianvito Rossi loafers for comfort, Bonnie's casual look was on point! Recreate Bonnie's look for less with some of our choices **here**_

* * *

Oxfordshire in the fall – or autumn, as Bonnie has never gotten used to saying – is rather lovely and a welcome change from London. Even though Bonnie has never imagined herself to be a person who "_escapes to the _countryside", the ever-growing attention and borderline stalking from the press have changed her mind. A few months ago, Bonnie would be restless just after a day of quietness and itching to go back to the city.

This time, however, Bonnie's far more receptive to everything. The crisp air and immaculate landscape around them give her a weird sense of comfort. Klaus' friends - a tightknit group consisting of English aristocrats and heirs - are amiable after concluding she's not a "fame-seeking temptress". At Nik's request, presumably, they go out of their way to keep her entertained with a multitude of unfamiliar hobbies. Bonnie goes along with cricket and clay pigeon shooting – and discovers she's absolutely awful at it – and draws the line at riding. Every muscle in her body is still sore from Thursday's rehearsal and her abilities with horses leave much to be desired, no matter the amount of effort her horse-crazy boyfriend is making to rectify that. Despite aching muscles and poor skills on the back of a horse, Bonnie is starting to regret skipping out. Particularly because she can't get her mind to shut off and stop rewinding pieces of her conversation with Celeste.

"Would it be insecure of me to admit your silence is positively unbearable?" Klaus wonders as he taps the tip of his pen on the hardcover of the notepad, seemingly bored with the task that's kept him occupied for the past thirty minutes. "It makes me think of the most unsettling things."

"Like what?" Bonnie asks with a crinkled nose and a little smile, hoping she wasn't too obvious.

"Like you breaking my poor little heart in a multitude of pieces," he answers; the humor that tints his voice accompanied by something she can't quite place. "Leaving me to wallow in desolation."

"Oh, but I couldn't risk the headlines," she says, chuckling quietly. "American strumpet seduces and uses Prince. Diplomatic relations between the United States and the United Kingdom at an all-time low!"

"Are the scathing headlines the only factor in your decision then?"

Still sitting on the red and white checkered picnic blanket, Bonnie moves closer to him, breathing in his comforting scent of citrus and musky woods. With a relieved sigh, Klaus welcomes the close contact, brushing a kiss on her forehead.

"Unfortunately, I still find myself attached to you, scathing headlines and all," Bonnie comments, feeling the tingle that always goes through her body whenever he gives her _that_ look. The look that makes her feel like she's the only woman, no person, in the world to him. "What were you working on?"

"Oh," he clears his throat, sounding a little flustered, which makes her eyebrows knit in confusion. _Flustered is_ not an adjective she would use when describing Klaus at any given moment. No matter the occasion, his confidence – mixed with a good amount of cockiness – is present, much to others' consternation. Bonnie's seen him being vulnerable, perhaps her favorite iteration of Nik, with big and hopeful blue eyes. But never flustered. "Nothing of much importance."

She snorts at his obvious bullshit answer, already familiar enough with his mannerisms to spot a lie. An uneasy sensation washes over her, replacing the pleasant, Nik-induced tingle. It's an unpleasant surprise, realizing how much the idea of Nik keeping secrets bothers her. Quite hypocritical, the rational part of Bonnie would say, given that she's become adept of doing the same thing herself.

"One disclosure for another?" Bonnie asks as she intertwines their fingers, hoping the gesture will say the words he needs to hear. It seems to work well enough, as he nods and brings her hand to his lips.

"I've been working, or attempting to work on an idea for a new project," he tells her, opening the leather-covered notebook at a folded page, allowing her to see all the scribbles and barely legible words that cover up the ivory paper. "Perhaps I should say that I am failing to work on this."

His self deprecating comment is expected, as Bonnie's come to learn about English people and their peculiar behavior. She ignores it completely, choosing to go for a sunnier and, dare she say, American approach. Considering he's grown up in a household filled with courtiers, protocol and the reminder that he's the spare, it doesn't hurt to be encouraging.

"Nik, that's amazing," she praises, reaching for the notebook to try and decipher the words he's been writing. Her lips curl in an appreciative grin whenever her eyes catch something she likes. By the time Bonnie's finished decoding the two pages – front and back – worth of little notes and jumbled thoughts, the beam is a permanent feature on her face.

"What is the verdict, love? Too preachy? Or perhaps too unrealistic? I hardly wish to -" Klaus starts to say, but is interrupted by her hand covering his mouth. Before he can protest, Bonnie replaces her hand with her lips, kissing him with so much warmth that Nik even parts with his preoccupation with public displays of affection.

"It's perfect, truly," Bonnie assures him with a breathy murmur; puffs of warm breath against his face. Klaus finds it more comforting than he could ever expect. But then again, he should have been used to Bonnie shattering all kinds of expectations. "An art school, a safe space for kids is a great idea."

"I don't have a lot figured out yet, but Bon, seeing those kids and their talent was marvelous," Klaus recounts, gesturing wildly as he tends to do when fully immersed in conversation. "They do so much with little, so there's no limit to what they can do with proper resources. Not to mention, this could be just the beginning and…" he pauses, willing himself not to flush with self-consciousness under her attentive gaze.

"Don't mind me!" she urges, still a little dazed from seeing him in that light. Passionate and engaged Nik is now her favorite iteration of him. "I want to know more. How did that idea come to you?"

Klaus runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. With a beard stubble, messy, longer hair and face flushed pink from the cold wind, Nik hardly looks like the aforementioned spare prince. For that, Bonnie is grateful. He's always seemed to be at his best when tuckered away in the countryside and shielded from all the procedures of royal routine. Well, most of them, as the protection officers were a constant and non-negotiable feature in his life.

"I am well aware that many individuals in my mother's household and in the media believe me to be inconsequential and a poor spare for my _much_ more suitable brother," he says; his tone free of anger or bitterness. It is as if he's merely informing her of the weather changes. "And for most of my life, I've accepted it. Hell, I even thought it was liberating not to be under such expectations. I enjoyed being the Party Prince while Elijah was saddled with the responsibility."

"Nik…" Bonnie murmurs, trying to find the right words, but failing. Then again, what exactly could she say to advise on such a particular situation? The coming of age of a prince is hardly within the realm of her knowledge.

"However, I see now that I must mature and shed this dreadful persona of mine. My family was given an immense amount of privilege and I do not want it to waste it away."

"You know," Bonnie breathes out, feeling strangely emotional about it all. "This was one of the most inspiring things you've said."

"Good," he says before clearing his throat in an attempt to conceal his hesitation. "Because I would very much like to have your help with this."

"My help?" Bonnie asks, wondering if she resembles a gaping fish with wide eyes and mouth open in an unattractive way. Her suspicions are confirmed when Klaus throws his head back in soft laughter and closes her mouth with two fingers under her chin. "Why? How?"

"Who better than the woman I trust implicitly and also happens to possess the knowledge of how such things work?" Klaus questions with a shrug; any shred of hesitation now replaced by a keen sense of conviction.

The realization that he wants her by his side in such a landmark step of his life makes Bonnie giddy and out of breath all at once. It is a familiar sensation, but one she's only experienced after being cast for Giselle or learning of her promotion. Flutters. Everything inside her flutters with bliss.

"I mean, I don't have much experience at this scale, but of course I'll be there for you, Nik."

"You, my love," Klaus croons in the softest, honeyed tone as he taps the tip of her nose. "are positively brilliant."

"I'm glad you recognize it, darling," she sniffs with a jutted chin and faux haughty intonation that could belong to a seventy-year-old woman who wears fur coats and wears Chanel No 5.

"Now that we have settled my disclosure, shall we discuss yours?"

Bonnie hesitates and the hand that was previously drawing shapeless figures on his leg pauses. The concerned frown he gives her is adorable, causing Bonnie to feel just a tad guilty for the white lie she's about to tell. Their nice, intimate moment shouldn't be spoiled by yet another conversation about the press and Celeste's notions of conspiracy.

"No disclosure, just a silly story from my lunch with Celeste," she says with a shake of her head, wishing to move on to the next subject.

"Speaking of silly stories," Klaus mentions, crinkling his nose as if the prospect of saying whatever is on mind is somewhat befuddling. "Rebekah requested that I ask you the designer of the jumper you were pictured wearing on that blog."

"Ugh," Bonnie lets out an unidentified sound that resembles a weird mixture of laughter and a snort and covers her face with both hands. "I can't believe Rebekah is reading that!"

"I am still unaware of what exactly you are talking about, but she did call it enlightening. Judging by your reaction, I'm afraid she was being ironic."

In another bout of morbid curiosity, Bonnie broke her self imposed media blackout and discovered the existence of the said blog. While _Buzz on Bennett _seems to be relatively harmless, and, for the most part, dedicated to cataloging her fashion choices, it's still jarring to see complete strangers having so much interest on her just because of Nik. Despite trying to focus on anything else, Celeste's voice is insistent on the back of her mind.

"_Do not be fooled, Bonnie. Your life is not yours anymore, not to the public. No matter your accolades, your name will always be tied to his."_

"Oi!" Marcel's impatient and yet facetious voice is what brings Bonnie back from the mess of thoughts filling her mind. "My lady, Your Royal Highness, would you care for some refreshments? Empty glasses for too long are a sign of bad luck, I hear."

"A glass or two wouldn't hurt, we are in a celebrating mood after all," Klaus replies, glancing back at Bonnie and offering her a conspirational wink. "Bollinger?"

"What do you take me for?" Marcel asks in mock outrage, complete with a hand on his chest. "A heathen with no taste?"

"Make no mistake, Marcellus," Klaus says as he stands up with no effort, and extends a hand to Bonnie, mindful of her sore muscles. "You are definitely a heathen, but your taste is impeccable."

"I live to serve, Your Highness," he states with a bow, pleased when he pulls a peal of giggles from Bonnie. "Now, shall we get out of the cold? I would hate to receive yet another chastising message from Camille."

"Really?" Bonnie questions, furrowing her brows in incredulity. Both men exchange a glance as if silently considering the appropriate answer in the situation.

"You see, love, Camille is rather protective of-"

"Of your health?" Bonnie guesses, wondering if that is a usual concern for all royals. It makes sense with the Queen and perhaps with Elijah, she figures.

"Oh, no," Klaus says with a snicker, thinking of the times Camille has laughed at his pitiful hangover state. There are too many to count. "Of me keeping the commitments on my diary. I once caught a nasty cold after one of Marcel's soirees and had to cancel two weeks of engagements."

"It was quite the scandal," Marcel adds as he ushers the both of them indoors. "A reporter from the Sun actually thought Nik was at a rehab clinic. So, not only do we have to look out for fanatical Republican looneys, but also for viruses and harmful particles."

"Sounds like a part-time job," she comments with a grin, offering Nik a playful grin.

"Make no mistake, Bennett," Marcel says with a grave voice as he nods to the waitress bringing a chilled bottle of champagne. He fills three glasses and hands her one. "Consorting with a royal is a full-time job, that is why we have a copious amount of alcohol at our disposal."

If he is being entirely or just partly ironic, Bonnie can't quite tell.

* * *

Crossing her legs at the ankles, Queen Esther releases a wistful sigh as she organizes all the documents from her box in two neat piles. One for foreign matters – requests for tours and issues with the Commonwealth – and another for domestic ones. Though the latter is particularly concerning, Esther's mind cannot help but drift away to another issue.

Unsurprisingly, it is her second son that occupies her thoughts and prevents her from focusing on state matters. Ever since he was a little boy who would pout and fuss when being told no, Niklaus has been her tricky child. One of the tutors would tut and privately assure her that it was merely a "consequence of his place in life as a spare to the British throne" and it would pass in the due time.

Though a rather respected scholar, Mister Givens was wrong and Nik continued to push back on what was expected of him. His days at Eton and Cambridge were anything but quiet and promptly followed by tumultuous years in the Navy. Esther should have been accustomed to his obstinacy by now, but this recent behavior is different.

He is no longer being willful for the sake of giving them grief, which is even more concerning. Esther has come to expect a certain pattern from him, and she knows how to handle it. The new Niklaus, however, is a novelty to her and Esther's realized she does not appreciate novelties. Her entire existence is dedicated to keeping old-fashioned traditions alive, after all.

"Your Majesty," Martin Young, the Queen's deputy private secretary, greets with a respectful bow as he enters the office.

"Martin!" Esther pipes out in an unusually high pitched voice. If Martin finds her demeanor peculiar, he does not show it. "Please sit, there is something I would like to discuss with you."

"How can I assist you, ma'am?" Martin wonders as he pulls the chair across from her. "Robert has assured me the speech -"

"Oh, no," Esther says with a quiet chuckle and a shake of the head. "This concerns a personal matter."

"Personal, ma'am?" he repeats; confusion stamped on his face as his pale eyebrows knit together. Being much younger than his superior, the indomitable Baron Fellowes, Martin has become used to not being included in conversations regarding private affairs. As such, having the Queen herself seek _his_ counsel is rather unexpected.

"Yes, Prince Niklaus," she answers, noticing the way in which Martin's eyes shift to look at anything in front of him but her. It would seem that he knows _exactly_ what she wants to discuss. "It was brought to my attention that he disregarded my press secretary's advice on how to deal with reporters."

"Ah, yes." Martin clears his throat, thinking of ways to explains the Prince's actions in polite words. "I believe His Royal Highness was not pleased with the strategy offered by Kingstone."

"Which was?" Esther asks as she folds her hands on her lap, beginning to regret her previous decision of giving them free rein to deal with any issues during her summer holiday.

"The Prince wished to employ a _firmer_ hand when dealing with publications and Kingstone was hesitant to do so," Martin explains, not yet able to be smooth with his words like Followes. Discussing the royal children – though only one of them could still be considered a child – with the Queen no less is always a delicate situation. "It is my knowledge that the Prince of Wales intervened and had his own staff deal with the _predicament_."

Esther snickered, not at all surprised to learn that Elijah was involved. The urge to protect Nik has rung deep within her eldest ever since the early days when it was just the two of them at Clarence House and influenced many of his decisions.

"Would I be accurate in speculating that such predicament involved Miss Bennett?" Esther asks, despite not needing his confirmation on this.

A few months have passed since Niklaus' impromptu visit for tea, and she still remembers his unyielding words with incredible accuracy. Her son has never been one to place much importance on his own public image, an unfortunate trait for a royal prince. Not even the most scorching tabloid pieces have elicited something other than a hearty chuckle, so it's obvious Miss Bennett was involved to spur him into action.

"Yes, the papers wanted to publish pictures of Miss Bennett that would significantly affect her privacy and His Royal Highness was keen to prevent it," Martin explains, careful not to allow his expression or tone to show reprehension or approval.

Even the most inexperienced member of the royal household knows not to offer unsolicited advice. Especially in this case where the opinion of the courtiers so harshly diverged from the princes'.

"Oh," Esther murmurs to herself as she taps her right foot on the carpeted floor. It would seem that her initial assertion, the one formed back in May, was partially inaccurate. Even though she could tell Miss Bennett had the potential to thoroughly enchant her son, Esther did not expect it to last past the summer. The pressure of standing next to a royal is not something most women – or even men, she's painfully aware – can shoulder with ease.

"Is there something you would like to be done about it, ma'am?" Martin finally asks, breaking the awkward silence that's settled on the room.

"If this matter is solved, I suppose there's no sense in interfering," she comments; the corners of her lips curling up in a faint smile. "However, if Miss Bennett is to become a feature in my son's life, perhaps it would be wise of me to learn more about her."

The observation is innocuous enough to fool a mere bystander, but not Martin. His years as part of the household, navigating through Palace corridors have awarded him the proficiency to understand the exact meaning of words before they are even uttered.

"Of course, ma'am. It shall be done with the utmost discretion," he assures with a nod.

"I have no doubt of that, Martin. The last thing we need is the tabloids chasing stories due to our carelessness."

The less of their personal lives stamped on the Express or the Mirror, the better.

* * *

In hindsight, Bonnie's spidey senses should have sensed it. She should have expected _something_ to disturb the period of tranquility. With a current political crisis and rumors of a cheating scandal between the Beckhams, Bonnie experiences a semi-normal life again. For three blissful, short-lived, weeks, she is able to go to Pilates class and the grocery store without worrying about long lenses cameras. It seems so very silly, to be happy to return to her old, mundane routine when she's with a freaking prince, but she can't help it.

So when her phone beeps with a new alert, Bonnie mourns in more ways than one.

_**EXCLUSIVE: BONNIE BENNETT'S STEP BROTHER SPEAKS OUT! ACCUSES HER OF IGNORING MOTHER AFTER SUCCESS!**_

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry for taking so long! At first, I was updating every week because I had already written a few chapters, but now I'm all caught up. I'm writing the next chapters' outlines and I already have a plan for the rest of the story. Did you enjoy Celeste? She's OOC, but I had so much fun with her. As promised. Jamie is making his appearance inspired by the nasty Markles and Abby will show up next. On a brighter note, little Archie arrived and got me super inspired to write about a Klonnie royal baby. **_


	8. Chapter 8

**TRADING FAMILY FOR ROYALTY?**

_Bonnie __Bennett's __stepbrother speaks out and accuses her of ignoring mother after success. Is the American ballerina dropping family and old friends for her new relationship and celebrity pals?_

_By: Amy Radcliffe & Rachel Dean_

_We may not know__ what the__ royal family __thinks __of __Bonnie Bennett, Prince Klaus' American girlfriend, but now__ we do know more about what Bonnie's __family thinks about the whirlwind royal romance and__ it's not too flattering__. Jamie Anderson__, Bennett's stepbrother, spoke __exclusively with The Sun__ to give__ his opinion and__ he __didn't __mince any words when discussing__ Bennett's __relationship __with her family, her career and __Prince Klaus._

"_I'm not surprised Bonnie's__dating a prince because__ she__'__s always seemed destined__ for something big__. I'm proud of her__, but I wish she would __remember __her __family, especially her mom,__"__ Jamie, __33, __told royal reporter Amy Radcliffe__in a phone call._

_While much __of Bennett's __family's __life and relationships __are __still a mystery to the public,__ the American __ballerina __is used to sharing a bit on Instagram __and has various pictures with her father and grandmother there__. Some of them are quite__ recent and show they__ still have a close relationship._

_Bonnie has also spoken__ about her family in her lifestyle blog, The Barre. In one post__, __she is candid about__ her grandmother, whom she sweetly calls Grams, __praising her for __"__being the one to dry__ her tears after a bad rehearsal__"__ and __"__leaving sweet notes behind for her to find". __In another post__, written for Father's Day, Bonnie is__ just as appreciative__. The lack__ of recognition for__ Abigail, Bonnie's mother, throughout the years hasn't been noticed by fans__ but has angered __Jamie._

"_Abby's__wanted to reconcile with Bonnie for__ years and she was open to that, but she cut off all contact after moving to London. __She was heartbroken when she had to __learn __about __Bonnie's promotion online__, while Sheila and Rudolph were__ front and center. __Ever since becoming__ successful, Bonnie__'__s ignored her mom, and I don't think that's right."_

_When asked about__ the reason why Ronnie__ is not close to her mom while she__ enjoys a very close relationship with other family members, Jamie didn't answer. He did go on__to offer more details on the__ situation, though._

"_We've tried talking to her time__ and time again, but we__ only get silence. Seeing her on social media__, it's like she__ wants to pretend her__ mother doesn't exist. __She has time__ for famous friends, but not Abby.__"_

_A quick look of Bonnie's social media confirms part of Jamie's claim. Bennett has shared pictures of moments with star tennis player Serena Williams, fashion designer Celeste Dubois and even actress Jenna Coleman. The only glaring absence is Abby._

_What are__ his thoughts__ on Bonnie's relationship with __Prince Klaus?_

"_From what I see, the Royal family is close, so I hope __Prince Klaus __encourages Bonnie to__ talk to her mom and rekindle their relationship. __I __don't __know __if their relationship is just__ a fling. If it's serious, __Abby would be over the moon to be__ invited to London to meet__ the new boyfriend.__"_

_Knowing how__ much the royals__'__ abhor __others __talking to the media, I find it difficult to believe he will ever get __an exclusive tour to __Buckingham Palace._

* * *

The sequence of events that starts with that God awful "exclusive" from the Sun and ends with Bonnie bursting into furious tears is hazy and confusing to her.

In all of her twenty eight years of life, it would be fair to say Bonnie Sheila Bennett has only been this irate handful of times. Unlike Caroline, who would get spitting mad at any perceived slight, Bonnie was more of a _rise above it_ girl. A smart and self-preserving attitude, considering she was immersed in a competitive and vicious universe. If she allowed every single stressful situation to get to her, she would have heart palpitations every week.

That said, Bonnie is aware she does have some, triggers, so to speak, and most of them encompass her family (her dad, Grams, and Care). Reading Jamie's equally outraged and condescending words, however, makes her see red in an unfamiliar manner.

In the future, Bonnie will never admit how terrified she was of her reaction. How she felt her face and ears burnt with a sensation akin to rage or how her stomach churns with nausea. She does tell Caroline about the awful tremble on her hand when she grabs her phone and calls Abby.

"Sweetheart, it's so nice to hear from you," Abby's voice is breathy, sweet and everything Bonnie's dreamt of hearing when she was a child and yearning for her mother's love.

The irony that she's finally receiving after being criticized in public does not escape Bonnie. It aggravates her even more.

"Abby," Bonnie bristles, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear more aggressively than needed. She's finicky, fussing with whatever is in front of her. A consequence of Bonnie trying to keep a lid on the anger that wants to pour out. "You probably know why I'm calling."

A pause and a sigh on the other end of the line. For a second, Bonnie wishes Abby would tell her she has no idea what is going on, that she's just clueless on this. Wishful thinking, of course.

"Oh, Bonnie. Jamie is telling me he was completely misquoted in that article!" Abby exclaims with outrage, prompting an incredulous snicker from her daughter.

Of course, Abby's first reaction is to defend Jamie and his misquoted words instead of wondering about how Bonnie's feelings after being called a fucking social climber. It shouldn't surprise Bonnie that, once again, she's not Abby's priority. Bonnie wasn't Abby's priority when she was nine and cried into Ms. Cuddles after learning Mommy had to go away for a while. She also wasn't Abby's priority seven years after that, when Abby returned to Mystic Falls with a smile and a brand new family, believing all wounds were healed.

Bonnie knows history will repeat itself where Abby is concerned – the woman is nothing but reliably unreliable – but she still feels the familiar aching pang of disappointment in her stomach.

"Why is he talking to reporters about me in the first place?" Bonnie questions with a hiss. Her manicured, unpolished nails bite into the soft fabric of the throw pillow; a way to curb the unusual and current penchant for violence. "I haven't talked to him in years, we barely know each other!"

"Bonnie," Abby says, and Bonnie can just imagine the little placating grin on her face, which just infuriates her even more. "This reporter found him and Jamie thought this was the only way to get to you."

"Do you even listen to what you're saying? You've emailed me what, ten times in the last five years? Called once every year to wish a happy birthday. You've never tried to get to me," she argues with a sigh; not sure whether she's incredibly exasperated or just frustrated.

Frustrated with Abby for not knowing better, not being a better parent – even if she was twenty years late – and frustrated with herself for allowing her naive wishes to infiltrate the solid, realistic wall she's spent years building.

The idea of Abby as a present, supportive mother – at least to her, Bonnie thinks with an unhealthy amount of bitterness – is one that's rooted in fantasy. Even after making her return to Bonnie's life, complete with tearful apologies and promises, Abby was pretty much a drifter. She was there for some recitals and a birthday party or two but gone for everything else. Their relationship consisted of awkward hugs and stilted conversations, periods of both of them trying too hard followed by neither of them trying enough. It was an adequate arrangement for a while, but too exhausting (to Bonnie at least) for it to be sustainable long term.

"You were so distant, honey," Abby comments with a wistful sigh that sounds so quite pained – a mother yearning for her daughter's love – that Bonnie is almost convinced.

She's certain that her twenty-year-old self would be moved enough to chastise herself for being so aloof. The twenty-seven-year-old version of Bonnie, however, is too jaded and adept at self-preservation. Five years navigating through a foreign country with different customs and rising at a viciously competitive company will do that to a woman.

"We thought it would help. Jamie-"

"Jamie doesn't know me!" Bonnie retorts; the thin strand of patience left in her snapping. Her outburst may be shrill and childish, but it feels so damn good. "He doesn't know shit about me, about what I want and my relationships. His opinion doesn't mean anything."

"Bonnie..."

If Abby's soft, honeyed tone is meant to have a calming effect on Bonnie, it achieves the exact opposite.

"Stop trying to play the victim role, Abby. We both know that you could have called or texted if you were so bothered," Bonnie says. "But no, your instinct was to have your stepson speak to a reporter."

"I'm sorry, honey, but we're talking now. We can become better, I want to be part of your life."

_Abby just__ doesn't get it, _Bonnie realizes; her throat closing up with the urge to cry. She valiantly swallows unshed tears and most of her feelings down. Should she be surprised that her mother doesn't understand the first thing about loyalty to her? Probably not, but the knowledge that Bonnie can't trust her mother hurts like a bitch.

There's not much to say after that.

* * *

If the conversation with Abby did anything at all, it solidified one certainty Bonnie's had for years. Her only maternal figure is the sixty-something woman with an ever so slight Southern twang to her speech, radiant light brown skin, a mop of curls piled up in a high bun and black thick-rimmed reading glasses.

"Grams," Bonnie whispers as soon as Sheila's smiling face fills up the laptop's screen. She's dealt with the distance and homesickness pretty well, learning to create a home for herself in London. Talking to Abby, however, has caused her to revert to the insecure, emotional girl of years ago. Not that she's ashamed of it. "It's so good to see you. I wish you could be here."

"So I go to Salem for three weeks and miss everything," Sheila comments with a comforting smile and a wink.

Just like that, the dark cloud over Bonnie's head dissipates. It's amazing how even the smallest gesture coming from the right person can be so significant.

It's also shocking to realize the speed at which her life changed. Early September, Bonnie was just a supposition, the alleged royal girlfriend. Weeks later, she has blogs and hashtags devoted to her. Not to mention the endless streams of nonsensical articles that have taken to analyzing her body language ("she seems quite a bit tense, but I can tell there are moments she appears to be enjoying the attention," was the gist of what the analysts would say at any given day.) and now her genealogical tree after Jamie pushed her family to the forefront.

"I thought my research was interesting, but it clearly pales in comparison to my beautiful granddaughter. You're the main subject among my students and my colleagues," Sheila continues to say; eyes twinkling in amusement as she gesticulates with her hands. "Now, are these stories true? Sneaky child, I asked you back in August and you were tight-lipped."

In an imperceptible gesture, Bonnie releases a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn't have to keep apologizing for not having Grams in the know. In her true fashion, Sheila doesn't seem to be concerned about being small particulars.

"I didn't want to say anything to you or dad before I was sure it was _something_," Bonnie explains, hesitant in her choice of words. Far from Bonnie to think herself in a fairytale, but as far as she's concerned, she and Nik were something from the moment he lit up her cigarette. By summer break, she was halfway in love with him.

"And are you something now?" Sheila wonders, tilting her head to the right and staring at Bonnie with the same curious expression she used to give her as a child.

"Yeah, we're something now, which sounds a bit crazy, I know!" Bonnie admits with the little incredulous and nervous giggle that overcomes her every time she remembers that _oh, yeah, I happen to be dating a__ prince of England. _It's entirely out of character.

"Well, I can't wait to become the most popular member of the faculty!" Sheila comments; her tone mostly ironic and just a little serious, which makes Bonnie chuckle at first. She did have that weird rivalry with Elaine Green, another prominent Whitmore professor.

"Grams, no! You can't tell anyone, not even your friends! It's bad enough that Jamie is running his mouth to the press," Bonnie mutters the last sentence, unable to hide the distaste that rolls off her in thick waves.

Judging by the way Sheila's lips become just a thin line, Grams doesn't seem to be amused by the subject either. Not a surprise, considering Sheila's never been a fan of Jamie's utter immaturity, even referring to him as a "silly little boy" to his face in a moment of frustration.

"That boy is hopeless, it's a damn shame," Sheila comments with a shake of the head and a pinched expression that lets it show just how irritated she is. "Did you speak to Abby about it?"

Bonnie releases a sound that is caught between a snicker and a scoff as a response to her question. It takes Sheila a few seconds to interpret the wordless answer. As usual, when the subject is Abby, Sheila is hush and forgoes the tongue-lashing that any other person would have received. Despite not holding any sort of particular fondness for her former daughter in law, she still tries to respect Abby's role as Bonnie's mother. Even though that role has been nothing but **ceremonial** for most of Bonnie's life. She held back when her granddaughter made the decision of distancing herself from Abby, choosing to offer her silent support.

"She says he was misquoted, and he was only trying to help!" Bonnie replies; her voice taking a mocking, irritated tone.

Sheila snorts, unable to hide her eye roll. Of course, Abby would have sloppy excuses and no apologies. That's been her behavior for decades now and Sheila didn't expect it to change. It doesn't dull the absolute rage she feels at seeing her heartbroken granddaughter, though.

"I guess I should have known better," Bonnie finally murmurs with a hint of sorrow and disgust. "I've been in this same merry-go-round enough times to know how it turns out."

Not for the first time in her life and probably not for the last, Sheila purses her lips and mentally curses Abby and her ability to hurt Bonnie with hardly any effort.

"You expected your mother to act like _a mother_, and there is no shame in that," Sheila points out. "I, for one, hoped that she had moved past her immaturity in the last years, but it doesn't seem like much has changed."

"It doesn't matter anymore, Grams," Bonnie says, forcing herself to display a smile and unsure if the gesture is meant to assure Grams or herself. Either way, it works. At that moment, her mind is tricked into believing Abby is not an issue anymore. Not when she's the happiest she's ever been.

"I'll trust you on this, sweetheart," Sheila relents, aware that she will have to heed to Bonnie's wishes. "Now, tell me more about your prince charming. He does seem to be very handsome, judging by the way my undergrads keep whispering around.

Bonnie giggles and reaches for her mug of Jasmine tea – dating a true Englishman who could properly identify at least three types of tea is slowly curing her of that pesky coffee addiction. If the unpleasant Abby subject is still lingering in the back of Sheila's mind, it dissipates when she notices the absolute joy that radiates from Bonnie. _For that reason alone_, Sheila figures, _I already like__ the boy._

"I know it will sound silly, but I think it was _something_ at first sight, which is crazy considering we couldn't have been any more different," Bonnie confesses before taking a sip. For a moment, the crazier-than-fiction reality they find themselves in dawns on them all over again.

"Not silly, child. I would say he is your twin flame and twin flames take no notice of social backgrounds," Sheila explains with an easy and understanding smile. Now, the unusual sequence of events makes quite a bit of sense. "Or illustrious mothers."

"True," Bonnie says; a small frown on her face as she thinks of destiny and soulmates. Were the stars aligned in that April evening? "Speaking of illustrious mothers or grandmas, Nik totally wants to meet you."

Sheila's frowns in surprise before she can help herself. "Oh."

"Oh, what?"

"Nothing!" Sheila answers as she shakes her head, offering Bonnie a reassuring grin. "I just...didn't know you were already on this step. Meeting family is important, no?"

Sheila wonders because, for most of her life, Bonnie's been on the cautious side. She's had meticulous life plans with detailed steps on how to achieve her goals, and she's stuck to it with admirable perseverance. Soulmate or not, the thought of Bonnie disregarding her constant vigilance and leaping instead of taking careful steps is enough to raise Sheila's eyebrows. Not a bad thing, but surprising nonetheless.

"I met his sister and his brother, not his parents!" Bonnie cries out with a burst of nervous laughter, waving her hands in a silent "slow your roll" motion. Granted, Elijah is the future King of England, but they met for ten minutes during a crisis. Surely that didn't count? "Come on, Grams, out with it."

"Well, Bonnie, I am just surprised that my granddaughter is not only dating a prince but seems to be in a serious relationship."

"Surprised or disappointed?" Bonnie wonders, inching her head to the side in curiosity and a hint of uncertainty.

In the past years, Bonnie's been able to shake off plenty of unhealthy tendencies. That penchant of hers for selflessness to the point of self-sacrifice was thankfully eradicated after six months at a studio company in New York. The need to please Grams and her father, however, is still rooted there and just as strong as it was when she was a teenager.

"Why should I be disappointed to see my granddaughter happy?" Sheila asks in a confused tone, shaking her head to assure Bonnie. "I do worry about you, though. That's my right as an old lady and a grandmother."

"Worried about me and Nik? That we're moving too fast?"

"Not about _him_, about what comes with him," Sheila answers; employing her usual straightforward attitude that could intimidate so many graduates. "I may not be up to date with my royal gossip, but even I know how they are."

Cradling the half-empty mug with both hands, Bonnie is silent. It's not like she didn't anticipate this line of conversation. Hell, Bonnie herself has spent many restless nights agonizing over this exact point. In any other day, she would have a five-hundred-word argument, explaining how she's very aware of his famous – or maybe infamous -family. Today, however, after that emotionally draining phone call with Abby, she's got nothing.

"It is not my place to tell you what is best," Sheila continues, her voice softening when she notices how Bonnie's deflated before her eyes. "Because I don't know what's best for you. You look radiant and that's how I want you to be, sweetheart. If he makes you happy, you should be with him. But if you think you are rushing, maybe it would be wise to wonder just where you are rushing to and whether it's a place you two can reach."

"I don't think we're there yet, Grams," Bonnie replies with a sigh, keeping herself from imagining what _that place would_ be like.

For a brief moment, the memory of being in front of the television with Caroline flashes back to Bonnie. Two years ago, she sat on her couch with a bowl of popcorn, and watched the nearly exhaustive coverage of "the biggest royal event in decades". She commented on the parade of hats and fascinators, oohed when she saw Gia emerge as a vision in intricate white lace and a glittering diamond tiara, and aahed when the couple shared their first kiss on Buckingham Palace's balcony. It feels like a lifetime has passed since that day.

Back then, she was one of the billion spectators that tuned in to watch the well-rehearsed royal exhibition. Now, she could-

"Bonnie?" Sheila asks as she notices her granddaughter slipping out of their conversation and into somewhere else. "You're with me?"

"Sorry," she apologizes with a sheepish little chuckle and promptly suppresses her previous line of thinking.

Nope, she's not going there. She's not going to act like a little girl and imagine herself as Gia. She's not going to contemplate marriage to a guy she's met five months ago. Nope.

"This was not meant to make you second guess yourself or your relationship, child," Sheila says, and Bonnie detects a hint of contrition wrapped in a type of warmth only a grandmother can offer. "But please, protect your heart and your soul. I've seen what they can do to a person."

If a small part of Bonnie is curious to know exactly who they are, she doesn't let it show. Probably because there are only two options to answer the question and one of them could very well break her heart.

* * *

Between her conversation – or maybe confrontation would be a better-suited word – with Abby, Grams' concerned advice, and Nik's packed diary, the rest of Bonnie's week is slow to pass. As it turns out, actively ignoring television and social media is a great way to free up her time, and Bonnie spends most of it inside the studio or stress baking cookies and cupcakes. By Friday, most of Bonnie's muscles ache with overuse exhaustion and she longs for her bed, her old plush blanket and a break from the rest of mankind.

Of course, her boyfriend - who's been known to enjoy a pint with strangers at a pub – would disagree with that notion.

"I promise they will not have horribly bland food, love," Klaus cajoles, employing the voice that has got him exactly what he wants so many times before. "The wine is marvelous, as always. Elijah is wise to keep a well-stocked cellar."

Bonnie laughs at his argument. She will have to admit that he does know his audience and the right words to persuade a foodie who happens to have a healthy appreciation for wine. It almost moves the needle in his favor.

"Nik, I just spent five hours in rehearsal. All I want is to hide under the covers and sleep for the weekend," Bonnie argues, sounding like a spoiled six-year-old, which elicits a low rumbling chuckle from him. She hates how that sound makes her stomach flutter.

"You know I am always willing to hide under the covers with you, love, but why?" Klaus asks, and Bonnie can almost perfectly imagine the slight frown in between his eyebrows and his head cocked to the right.

"Because I'm tired and embarrassed, Nik," she confesses, a little surprised with herself for the way the admission flows out of her lips. "I don't want to see your brother and meet your sister-in-law after I was accused of being a gold-digger and social climber. What will your family think of this mess on the papers?"

Damn, talking to Nik triggered something in her and she's just telling him every thought in her head. Even the ones that were supposed to be kept in the safety vault. How pathetic does she sound right now? The survey would probably say _a lot._

"Love, do you think Elijah will concern himself with this rubbish? We all know how the tabloids operate," Klaus assures her, thinking of the _many_ headlines that depicted Elijah in a rather unflattering light. He also attempts to ignore the bout of guilt that overcomes him at the realization that he's to blame for the scathing headlines attacking her. His mother was right. Any woman standing next to him would have to endure. Fuck. Klaus clears his throat to rid his voice of any unwanted emotion. He couldn't well be blubbering about when Bonnie is the one upset. "As for publicity on this, I guarantee you this is perhaps one of the most inoffensive stories out there. Do you know of my Aunt Dahlia?"

Worrying the hem of the plush blanket in between thumb and index finger, Bonnie nods. "Just the general story."

Even the most detached from sordid royal tales know a thing or two about Princess Dahlia, Queen Esther's rebellious younger sister. Bonnie is no exception.

"She fell in love with granddad's equerry, a man fifteen years her senior who was also divorced with two children. It was a scandal, of course," Klaus explains, reciting the abridged story he's first heard from his mother years ago. In some of their private family dinners, this subject was broached as a cautionary tale and general example of how _not_ to behave as a royal family member. "She wanted to marry him, but the whole cabinet threatened to resign in protest. In the end, she married another man and proceeded to cheat on him with a Welsh singer who loved the headlines."

"Well, damn," Bonnie mutters, throwing her head with a genuine guffaw, the first one of the week.

"There was also myself, you see, and my many incidents. They did publish photos of me starkers and absolutely sloshed," Klaus reminds her with a frown. Bloody hell, it feels like a lifetime has passed since such events. It barely feels like he's the same person.

"I'm familiar with pictures," she teases.

"So come to dinner, stay the night and maybe I can give you a foot massage and show you an accurate reenactment of the events surrounding the photos."

In overly dramatic fashion, Bonnie sighs into the phone as if she's being forced into making an impossible decision. Hot cocoa, her blanket and Netflix or dinner at a Palace, a massage and a couple of orgasms? She chose the latter, obviously.

* * *

In the end, Nik was right, not that Bonnie would admit it out loud and stroke his oversized ego. The night goes swimmingly, and their conversation flows like the Cabernet Sauvignon that's keeps being poured into her glass before it's empty.

"Oh, Bonnie, it's a relief you came into Nik's life when you did," Gia says with a little tipsy sigh; her pink gloss coated lips stained red. Bonnie stifles a laugh, not used to seeing the perfectly composed princess in such a state. "I thought my husband would go gray with the stress of dealing with Nik. Now he's all yours."

"Honestly, Gianna," Klaus complains in his best faux pained voice, moving to rest a splayed hand on Bonnie's thigh and throwing her a sneaky glance. "Must you make me out to be such a hopeless and troublesome character? I thought you wanted to encourage the longevity of my relationship, not scare her off."

"You are right," Gia agrees and turns to Bonnie. "Please disregard any comments on Nik's debacles. He's a brilliant guy and was in fact, named the most eligible bachelor in the world by Tatler and People Magazine."

"And here I was, thinking you were just a pretty face with a snobbish title," Bonnie tells her boyfriend, patting him on the cheek with a playful smile before turning to face the hosts. "No offense."

"None taken," Elijah soothes with a hand gesture, moving to take another sip of the red wine. "We are well aware that our _designations_ are antiquated and admittedly, quite snobbish."

"That is why they need us commoner women, Bonnie," Gia adds with a wink. "If left to their own devices, their public school education's proclivities would take over."

"True," Klaus agrees as he digs his spoon into the decadent chocolate cake. The pointed look from Elijah prompts him to shrug. "Well, look at Finn! He's an absolute drag who agrees with Followes more often than not. Clearly, he's been around the Knatchbull lot for too long."

"Well," Elijah starts to say with the diplomatic tone he's perfected through the years. "Finn does seem to be attached to a particular vision of the monarchy."

"That is what the lack of commoners in your social circle does, one starts longing for the days of Queen Victoria or King George," Gia commented with a faux haughty tut; an accurate impression of a lady who's probably lived in the times of Queen Victoria. "Finn's the snobbiest of them all, but no worries. We'll stick together."

They clink their wine glasses together, giggling uncontrollably when the question as to whether the "Commoner Women Club" should have a mascot is posed.

* * *

"Arthur, what brings you here this morning?" Followes asks as he lowers his copy of The Telegraph and gestures to the unoccupied chair across his desk. "Would you like some tea?"

"Oh, no thank you, I must be off soon," Sir Arthur Reid, the assistant private secretary to the Queen, says as he removes invisible lint from his bespoke black suit jacket. "I received a call from a friend who happens to be an editor for the Express."

"The Express?!" Followes exclaims with an amused chortle, parting with his usual stern composure for a brief moment. "Goodness gracious, man. What kind of rubbish do they wish to write now?"

"You may laugh, Robert, but my friend was kind enough to inform me they have received pictures of Prince Klaus and his girlfriend leaving Clarence House late in the night."

"I wager the paper is keen on splashing them on their front page," Followes concludes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He hasn't yet completed his routine of reading the morning papers and this is about to muck it all up. Despite the papers' recent frenzied coverage of Miss Bennett, there isn't much to support the suggestion that the Prince is in a serious relationship with her. So far, this potential headache could be ignored and he did hope Prince Klaus would tire of his American _dalliances_ before anything came to it. These images, however, would give the public a _problematic_ idea.

"Naturally," Arthur nods; his thin lips pursed in dissatisfaction. The push and pull with the press is a longtime challenge he's grown used to, but it remains a weary contest. "He said Miss Bennett has helped them sell an incredible amount of copies."

"For God's sake," he mutters, already anticipating the never-ending parade of front pages and articles, all of them placing a senior member of the royal family in a vulgar light. "Are they in any way sordid?"

"No, but he also told me his reporters plan on using the pictures as a backdrop for a more scandalous piece regarding a relative of Miss Bennett."

"Oh," Followes says, his mind calculating the pros and cons of that. "Of course, any mention of the relationship on the media is not ideal, but if they can focus on something more...salacious, perhaps that could be used to our advantage."

"They will most likely tie the prince to some silly scandal, how can that be advantageous?"

"One would hope Her Majesty feels disinclined from lending her support to that preposterous relationship," Followes replies; his eyes flashing with contempt for a moment before being replaced with his usual stoic expression.

"Her Majesty is a mother. I've no doubt she's taken by sentimentality."

Followes snickers as if he's heard the most ludicrous joke. "Sentimentality has no place in monarchies, Arthur. At least not in monarchies that wish to survive past this generation."

"Well," Arthur starts to say, smoothing his dark blond strands. "If Miss Bennett wasn't well acquainted with our press, I suspect she will be in a matter of days."

"Let us hope they prove themselves useful once again and we can be done with this ridiculous situation."

_Little did they know it would actually have the opposite effect._

* * *

**A/N: I know, it's been a month, but in my defense, I wanted to get started on the next chapter before updating and I also started hating everything I wrote. Abby officially showed up, and I swear, I didn't want to give her that tired "bad mom" portrayal and wanted her to have some nuance, but for some weird reason, she started annoying me. Grams is also officially here! Don't be too upset with her, she's just looking out for her baby. How did you like Gia? I got a bunch of ideas after writing that foursome scene. I felt like this chapter was more about setting the scene and then we'll get some more action. More Klonnie and more royal intrigue! **

**For my lovely readers who are waiting for an update on my other stories: none of them are abandoned, not even Adventures! I do plan on finishing all of them, but sometimes I am hit with a block and just hate everything. My outline for this story is nearly done and I'm excited to finish it so I can go back to edge of a golden world, mate for a throne and the final chapter of Adventures. **


	9. Chapter 9

_NICE TO WITCH YOU!_

_Prince Klaus and Bonnie Bennett are getting closer, but will her eccentric grandmother meet the Queen for tea?_

_After a picture of the couple together went viral a few weeks ago, it was expected that the Palace or Bennett's people would finally confirm the relationship, but everyone around them remained tight-lipped. In reality, what followed was an unexpected closing of ranks. Even the Prince's most media-friendly pals refused to comment, and the Palace's stuck with the old private matter line. _

_With the excessive mystery around them and attention on Bennett, people started to think the romance has gone sideways until the couple was spotted together again last week, this time leaving Clarence House late in the night. A source has confirmed that they were en route to Kensington Palace, where Prince Klaus lives, after dinner with Prince Elijah and his wife, Princess Gianna. _

_There's no word of Bonnie meeting the Queen or Prince Klaus meeting Bonnie's relatives, but we imagine this could be quite an awkward family meeting. That's due to Bonnie's grandmother's unusual choice of profession. Sheila Bennett teaches Occult Studies at Whitmore College, Virginia, and is said to be a renowned professor in the subject. One of the courses taught by Sheila covers the study of magic, alchemy, and astrology, and according to her bio page in Whitmore College's website, most of her work is focused on witchcraft practice. _

"_The Queen is, of course, the Head of Church and she takes her role very seriously," Amy Weir, who's worked at Buckingham Palace as assistant press secretary for five years, points out. "This could be tricky, as I don't believe there was anyone so quite eccentric close to her, but Her Majesty is very gracious and knows how to deal with all sorts of people."_

_It is not known whether the Bennetts, Bonnie, in particular, practice any sort of witchcraft, but it would make for a very interesting small talk over tea._

* * *

After the fiasco with Abby and her "reconciliation attempt" through the Mail, Bonnie becomes more studious on her efforts of achieving a nearly total media blackout. Even the Guardian earns a side-eye from her when she catches one of their opinion pieces ("_It's time we talk about Bonnie Bennett") _and she figures it's better to stick to The Economist and Dance Magazine, just to be on the safe side.

Being on the safe side provides Bonnie with some lulling comfort and, for a moment, she feels back to sorts again. Yes, there are still photographers stalking the streets of Chelsea in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her in an embarrassing setting (they hit the jackpot once or twice last week when she was walking back from Pilates, and Celeste was quick to assure Bonnie her outfit was the perfect mix of _athletic_ and streetwear_ cool_), but _not _seeing her name and face next to ludicrous theories stamped out everywhere helps immensely.

The problem is, Bonnie should have recognized the repetitive steps in this never-ending dance. The precise choreography's started when she was named as the _Prince's American girlfriend. _It consists of bouts of peaceful periods when Bonnie deludes herself into believing that _huh, maybe this isn't so bad followed_ by peaks of stress after a piece is published that makes her realize just how much she's out of her depth.

The day, a surprisingly balmy Thursday, starts as part of a _peaceful period. _Bonnie's still floating with delight over the blissful weekend with Nik, the softest sheets known to mankind and no clothes, _and_ she has a rare week off. Just as she's thinking about inviting Sophie out for lunch in that hole-in-the-wall near Covent Garden, the choreography changes again. In a sharp motion, just like the well-executed fouéttes during the Black Swan variation, Thursday shifts into a _stressful_ day.

It starts with a phone call from Caroline, which should be enough to make Bonnie frown since it's five in the morning back in Mystic Falls and the blonde observes a strict "do not wake me before seven" policy. Bonnie, however, is still encased in a happiness cocoon

"Where's the fire, Care? Or did you fight with Tyler?" Bonnie asks in amusement as she pops pistachio in her mouth.

"Uh, no to the latter," Caroline, answers, and the hesitant, measured words give Bonnie pause. Any other situation would have triggered a five-minute rant about Ty's latest blunders instead of an awkward throat clearing.

"Okay, Care, you're starting to make me worried. Are you okay, did something happen?"

"I'm okay, we're all okay," Caroline assures hurriedly, not at all managing to alleviate Bonnie's concerns. "Did you happen to check the internet today?"

"You were better at this when we were teenagers, Forbes. Spit it out before you give me a fucking heart attack."

"After Sunday's article about Grams, the press swarmed the campus to find her and then some reporter tried to break into the house last night."

Comprehending Caroline's words becomes a strenuous task. Perhaps because, in Bonnie's mind, they don't go together at all.

When placed one after another in the same sentence, they don't make any sense. At least not in her reality. Who in the hell would break into her house? In Mystic Falls of all places? It sounds like something out of a poorly thought out novel. _Then again_, that small voice in Bonnie's head that's been quite active for a while reminds her, _your life is a cliché novel now. _Her inner voice's observation is correct, but fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen. All of the chaos that comes with dating Nik should be directed at _her, _not people on the other side of the Atlantic. Certainly not at Grams, her dad or Care.

Due to her overactive mind processing tens of distinct thoughts every per second, Bonnie's response is concise and not at all sophisticated.

"What the fuck? Why? How's Grams, how are you?" She babbles, tapping her nails against her right leg, unsure of what to do with the nervous energy inside of her.

"Yes, everyone's okay. Grams figured something was wrong and called the police before he could enter the house. She didn't want you to know, but Bon..." Caroline vacillates, unwittingly contributing to the disintegration of Bonnie's already frayed nerves. "It's a complete circus, they're camped outside and I have no idea when they're leaving. Mom placed some officers there."

Bonnie's stomach churns and she's taken by a sharp wave of nausea and enough guilt to fill her bathtub. She's been comfortable in her apartment, planning a boozy lunch and enjoying relative protection from the feverish glare of the press while her family is being hounded. It's enough to make her feel disgusted with herself. The repercussions of dating a prince should fall solely on her, not on anyone else. Fuck, if the pack of photographers stationed at a safe distance from the Opera can be a little intimidating, Bonnie can barely imagine having them on her front yard; nothing but blinding flashes and shouting. Absolutely terrifying. And also –

"What article about Grams?"

"You didn't know," Caroline concludes and mutters a quiet _shit _before regaining her "everything's alright" attitude. "It was published on Sunday and it wasn't flattering."

Sunday. Sunday when she spent the whole day in Nik's apartment, clad in pink cotton bra and panties and occasionally, his ratty, oversized _University of Oxford_ shirt. When they had Thai takeout – pad thai and tom yum – and Bonnie laughed at the idea of a delivery guy walking up to Kensington Palace. When Nik laid her down on a camelback sofa from the Hanoverian era and proceeded to wring out three orgasms out of her. That same Sunday when the press was defaming Grams as a way to get to her and she was none the wiser.

"You don't have to worry, Bon. Mom convinced Grams to stay with her for a few days. I just didn't want you to know through TMZ or whatever," Caroline says; her unusually steady tone lets Bonnie know she _does _have to worry.

Fuck.

* * *

For a woman who usually likes to consider the pros and cons before making a decision, Bonnie becomes an example of timely efficiency. By the time one o'clock rolls around, she's already read the damn article (and fought the urge to smash her iPad by the second paragraph), booked a flight to DC leaving in the same evening, and her trusted Away carry-on suitcase is almost packed up. All of that while wiping away tears, Bonnie doesn't know whether she should be surprised or impressed with herself.

She is, however, surprised, when the doorbell rings and she sees Nik standing outside her apartment. Even though he's sporting a black beanie and Ray-Ban aviators, Nik still has that aristocratic aura clinging to him. The secret lies in his faultless posture, probably as straight as hers, and a healthy amount of self-assuredness.

"To commemorate the rare occasion of our diaries not clashing on a weekday, I figured we could have an indoor picnic. Not quite as cliché as its garden counterpart," he says, laying a kiss on the top of her head and entering the apartment with familiarity; the basket on his right hand swinging as he walks towards the kitchen. "I even went to Fortnum and Mason myself to procure the supplies. The employee there assured me the Grosvenor hamper would be _just delightful _for the occasion."

If his inexperience in dealing with small, common errands was endearing to Bonnie before, this time it exasperates her. Usually, she has no trouble navigating between the real world and his gilded reality, but now it's almost like her compass is broken and she can't navigate between the two of them anymore.

"They didn't have your favorite rosé, but I was forcefully told that this Portuguese red could change one's conviction," Klaus states as he presents the bottle of wine; the genial smile slipping off his face when he finally fixes his eyes on her.

Oh, so his ignorance is only extended to menial matters like taxes or grocery shopping. Not that it means a lot that he's noticed something is wrong. Her nose and eyes are red after shedding a few (or many, in this exact case) tears, and she's quite certain her face is puffy. Anyone with basic observation skills would be able to figure something is amiss.

Bonnie does, however, feel awkward under his gaze. Wearing a cotton oversized shirt paired with small Nike shorts, and a bun on top of her head, she's an absolute mess. Especially when compared to Klaus and his grey cashmere sweater, clean-shaven face, and perfectly tousled hair. The prince and his little peasant girl. For the first time since they've started this, Bonnie wonders if some of those royal experts were right.

Almost as if Nik could sense her hesitation, he cuts the distance separating them in just a few strides. Before she can even register his woodsy, slightly citric cologne, he's there. Minty breathe and soft hands on her face, Nik wordlessly studies her with remarkable precision.

"What's wrong, love?" He murmurs the question, and Bonnie inadvertently takes a step back, feeling way too exposed under his gaze.

The little frown on his face makes her stomach churn, but Bonnie's also a bit too numb to do anything about it. Fuck, he wasn't supposed to be here. Not when she feels like shit and is wallowing in a pool of self-doubt and simmering anger.

He takes an overall glance at her living room, probably noticing it looks nothing like the usual tidy space. Of course, he zeroes in the open suitcase thrown on the coffee table.

"You're going somewhere?"

"I'm flying back home," she settles on that. An answer as good as any. "This evening."

"This evening?" Klaus repeats; the flush on his cheeks and ears the only telltale signs of his distress. _I'm English and part of the aristocracy_, he'd said once as a way to explain his perceived coldness, _we tend to struggle with displays of emotion. _"Were you not going to tell me?"

Bonnie opens her mouth to answer but closes it before anything can come out and the silent hesitation is louder than any hoarse shout she could ever emit.

"Bloody hell, Bonnie. Why?"

"A bunch of paparazzi was harassing Grams. Now they're out there like they've bought tickets to the zoo, waiting to watch the main attraction," Bonnie finally answers; that familiar wave of nausea overcoming her once again at the thought.

"Fuck," he mutters out the curse, pinching his nose with two fingers in frustration before placing all his attention on her. A hand rests on the small of her back. "I'm so sorry, love. Is she okay?"

"I know I said I was resilient when we started this, but fuck, was I stupid," Bonnie says, not sure if she's talking to him or herself.

Klaus' eyes, trained on her, widen just a little and he slides his fingers to grip her waist. A way to assure himself she's still there, close to him.

"They're pathetic vultures, the lot of them. This is what they do."

His comment is benign and accurate. On any other occasion, Bonnie would find herself agreeing with it. Today is different, though. This time, his words trigger something in her, and it is not a positive reaction.

Even though Klaus has lived his whole life under bright camera flashes and constant scrutiny, Bonnie suspects he doesn't know the first thing about this issue. He's a fucking prince, after all. What would he know about being made to feel like he's an undeserving intruder? No, this is more than just photographers wanting to get their money shot.

"What they do?" Bonnie asks, repeating his words in an almost dazed tone. "You mean I – fuck - my family and friends will have to deal with to deal with this for the-"

Bonnie cuts herself off and brings a hand to her lips, almost as if to physically make sure she won't say anything else. The knots in her stomach twist and get tighter even when she realizes just what would come out. _The rest of her life. _What a deluded fantasy. She can barely imagine how they would manage the next six months, much less the rest of her life.

"Love?" Klaus asks with raised eyebrows and for the first time, Bonnie wishes he didn't know how to read her so well. With two fingers under her chin, he gently tips up her head. "Look at me. They're just noise."

Noise. Noise could be ignored, drowned out. Constant noise, however, could drive a person mad. Particularly when the noise amounts to whispers (or even shouts) of derision and outright attacks.

Slipping out of his arms, Bonnie moves to get her iPad, hidden under a knitted sweater on the couch. She clicks on the bookmarked page and hands him the item. There's no telling which exact words are to blame for the way his features twist into a scowl, but Bonnie figures there are plenty to choose from.

_She's obviously a social climber. Look at her smug face, she's showing off! _

_I bet Prince Klaus is trying to rebel. This is Vegas all over again. Why else would he date her? Who goes from Lady Aurora to this?_

_Ha! I think she asked her grandmom to put a spell on him. Doesn't she perform dark spells? Because sorry, there's no other way. Klaus could have anyone he wants!_

_I hope Elijah sets him straight before he gets any ideas. Imagine this chick in the royal family? People would want to abolish the monarchy in a few weeks. She needs to stay where she belongs #inthekitchen_.

"They're not wrong, you know?" Bonnie says, breaking the unbearable silence that settled on the room. His reaction – outraged spluttering – would be comic if she wasn't so _sad. _"Not about the obviously racist and sexist claims, but I don't belong in your world."

"Bonnie..." Klaus says under his breath, almost as if warning or pleading with her. _Don't_ _say it. _

"You know it's true, Nik," she insists with a bitter, resigned chuckle. Bonnie's thought about this exact point so many times for the past week that it doesn't even sting anymore. "I'm black, American, my grandma teaches Occult Studies, my relationship with my mother is rocky at best, I have a career and a blog where I talk about social inequality and politics. And I'm proud of that."

"And you believe I'm not?" he questions, a little outraged at the thought of him being anything but in awe of her. It's almost enough to make her smile.

For all of his shielded childhood and opinions that were most likely indoctrinated from the nursery, Nik never held them against her. He's always seemed to be equal parts supportive and amazed by her career. Every time there was an opening in his schedule, he would make sure to attend a matinee performance and sit in one of the places where she would be able to see him from the stage. By now, Bonnie's almost certain he knows a great deal about La Sylphide and Jewels' repertoires and the intricacies about race relations inside a world-renowned dance company (a subject she's passionate about). Not once did he make her feel bad for not fitting the mold of the "appropriate" girlfriend so many have envisioned for him.

Bonnie releases a deep sigh and notices just how exhausted she is. As it turns out, dealing with uncovered and conflicting emotions can be quite draining.

"We've been kidding ourselves, haven't we? I keep trying to pretend you're not you and that I'm not me," Bonnie says, not entirely sure of the words leaving her lips. Her eyes remain fixed on him, mentally cataloging his every single micro reaction. He takes a step back as if being punched to the gut. She hates herself for this, for what she's about to say. "I need to get on a plane and we need a break."

It actually hurts to say that, going against her every instinct to hold on to him and what the fuck? Why does it hurt like this? This sensation is entirely unfamiliar to her and the realization makes her even more discombobulated.

"Bonnie," he takes a step forward, reaching a hand to touch her and Bonnie immediately takes one step back. If he touches her, if she inhales his citric cologne, her fragile resolve will break.

"We can talk when I'm back, but I need you to go, Nik. Please," Bonnie pleads; not realizing her death grip on the cotton shirt.

With an expression of disbelief painted on his face, Klaus shoves his outstretched hand back in his jeans' front pocket. He doesn't say anything, and Bonnie doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She's a fucking mess, that's what she is.

"I just need to make sure Grams is okay and..." she trails off, unsure of what her next steps will entail. For a woman with lists upon lists, twenty-step plans, she's just lost.

And she hates that he seems to be just as lost as she is.

"I understand," he says; voice almost vacant. "Be safe, love."

Damn if his sweet words don't break her heart a little more.

* * *

"You are crazy, did I tell you that yet?" Caroline asks with a choked voice as she holds Bonnie in a tight embrace, almost afraid that the ballerina would vanish at any moment. After remarkably shitty days – courtesy of asshole paparazzi with zero respect for privacy – seeing Bonnie there is much more emotional than she expected. "You were on the phone with me, like two hours ago. How are you here?"

"I'm also gifted in the art of booking flights, Care," Bonnie replies with an exhausted smile that doesn't reach her eyes and sets her small Away suitcase down. "And I couldn't stay there knowing what's going on here. How's Grams? They tried to break into her house? I need to talk to her."

"Whoa, calm down, Bon!" Caroline exclaims, rushing to make Bonnie sit down on the couch before she gets any other ideas. "Grams is staying with mom, and I don't think any of these people are dumb enough to try to break into the Sherriff's house. She's okay. Besides, it's super late. You need a shower, food, and sleep. Solving the problem at hand comes tomorrow."

Even though a part of Bonnie wants to make everything right at this exact moment, she can concede that Caroline's right. There's not a lot to be done now.

"You know what? I'll call the Grille and order some food. Everything's better with bacon cheeseburgers and greasy fries."

As it turns out, Caroline's right about that as well. Eating a bacon cheeseburger with a side of curly fries and chocolate milkshake does make everything better. For a moment, Bonnie can even pretend they're back in their high school days. Gossip Girl – oh, such embarrassing times – playing on the television while they sprawl out on the fluffy white rug on the living room floor.

It's almost high school again, except Elena isn't there – she's in Southeast Asia with Damon last time Bonnie's heard - they're in Care's apartment and are legit adults.

"I think it's over," Bonnie mumbles absentmindedly while dragging the greasy fry on the puddle of ketchup, trying to ignore the painful sensation on her chest.

"Huh?" Caroline asks as she takes her eyes off the television screen to throw Bonnie a confused frown.

"My relationship with Nik," she explains, gulping down the milkshake and hoping she'll be able to gulp down her tears as well. "I told him we should take a break."

At Caroline's nonverbal urging, Bonnie starts recounting the story, releasing a sigh when she's done. In a rare display of control, Caroline has a true poker face and damn if it doesn't freak Bonnie out.

"Wow, okay," she says, pausing to take a bite of her burger. "So you want rational Caroline or emotional Caroline?"

"Rational Caroline," Bonnie replies immediately, figuring she can use some more rationality in her life. But then again... "No, emotional Caroline. Wait, a little bit of both?"

Balance is better than just being black or white, no pun intended.

"Rational Caroline totally gets why you decided to take a break. You're in a relationship with a freaking prince and it went from zero to a hundred in less than thirty seconds. It took Tyler almost a year to say 'I love you' and you're there in less than six months. It's intense and scary."

Bonnie huffs; a little annoyed that Caroline can find the right words to explain the situation in such an effortless way.

"Not only that, but now the press is sniffing around, you feel guilty they're a bunch of assholes and you want to protect all of us because that's what you do," she continues, offering Bonnie a little grin and an arched eyebrow that perfectly says 'you know I'm right'.

"You know," Bonnie starts to say, fiddling with the curls brushing over her shoulder. "Your talents are better suited for counseling."

"And deprive the masses of seeing my beautiful face every day? Never. I'm more of a part-time advisor, Bon."

"Okay, so hit me with emotional Care now," Bonnie requests as she stretches out her legs with a small groan.

"Emotional Care knows you love each other so much it's a little disgusting," Caroline says with a contagious smile that makes Bonnie laugh despite herself. "I know this feels terrifying, but do you honestly think Grams would be happy to know you're placing her above your happiness?"

They both know the answer to that. She wouldn't. Sheila Bennett is no Abby and doesn't need Bonnie to do grand gestures to prove her affection.

"That's the thing, Care. How do I know this won't blow up in my face? When I went on that first date, I expected to have a nice time and not fall in love in four months. Now, I'm getting a reality check."

And what a reality check it is. Their little pink protection bubble has been popped and Bonnie's now realizing what dating Nik entails. Not just late-night movies in a bedroom at Shoreditch House, impromptu holidays and rushing to the countryside on the weekends. It also comes with constant media attention, scrutiny from half of Great Britain's population and a whole lot of self-doubt.

"You don't know, Bon," Caroline answers with a gentle voice. "You do know, however, how you feel about him and your relationship. And this little glint in your eyes tells me everything I need to know. You're a goner, babe."

Caroline's right, again. This time Bonnie realizes she doesn't have it in her to be annoyed with her friend's keen perception skills.

"A delusional goner, you mean," Bonnie mutters with no small amount of bitterness. "Care, he's a fucking prince and I can't stress that enough. People bow to him and rush to open his car door."

The latter is not even an exaggeration on Bonnie's part. His royal protection officers _do _rush to open and close doors for him, even if Nik finds it ridiculous. A security matter, she's been told by one of his officers.

"Holy crap," Caroline says; blue eyes widening the way it always does when she reaches epiphany and mouth open in an unflattering manner. "You didn't break it off because you're afraid it won't work. You broke it off because you don't know what you'll do if it _does_."

_Huh_, Bonnie thinks to herself as she takes another gulp of the chocolate milkshake to wash down her fries, _that does make sense._ Despite what cliché convention dictates what a girl should do when landing a prince, Bonnie's surprisingly never found herself turning green with jealousy whenever Nik was linked to an up-and-coming actress. Her usual insecurities – even her recently acquired self-assuredness and confidence has its limits - didn't flare up either. Weirdly, Bonnie's barely questioned him or his commitment to their relationship. Every time she was filled with self-doubt, it came from external factors.

"I can see myself with him, Care," Bonnie murmurs after a moment of silence, feeling her face warm up at the quiet confession. "Actually, I can't see myself without him, which I hate even more."

For a better part of her life, Bonnie's prided herself on being self-sufficient. Well, not completely self-sufficient – Grams, Dad, and Care are a very integral part of her life – but she's never been the one to place another person above everything else. Elena did that – forfeited her chance to attend UV to be with Damon - and was still a mess years later. No, Bonnie likes being strong and independent. Which is why it's so hard for her to admit that maybe, she doesn't need to be strong and self-sufficient all the time. Why it was easier to get on a plane and cross the Atlantic Ocean than just talking to him.

Just like she's used to doing when hearing exciting news, Caroline squeals; her obvious elation causing Bonnie to chuckle. Maybe this could be easier than the monster she's been creating in her head.

"And from what you told me, he probably feels the same way. Ignore all of this bullshit and just _talk_ to him, Bon."

"Easier said than done," Bonnie says with a snicker, getting an uncomfortable flashback of all the comments she's read in the past couple of days. Could she keep ignoring all of that? "Am I supposed to pretend everything will be okay? Even though half of the country probably hates me?"

"No, you're supposed to tell him that instead of trying to deal with this by yourself," Caroline instructs, overly enunciating the words as if talking to a small child. She knows how Bonnie can get during a crisis, and the last thing she needs is overly complicated advice. "And when you get to that bridge, you cross it. Together. You'll know whether or not he's the man for you depending on his reaction."

With wide green eyes, Bonnie merely nods, and Caroline almost pats herself on the back. Another crisis averted.

* * *

Perched on a Queen Anne chair, straight spine and legs crossed at the ankles – the weekly lessons with Lady Porter from the time she was eight until twelve were still terribly effective – Rebekah lets out a noise that resembles a tut. Perhaps not a_ response _that would have been deemed ladylike or "befitting of a Princess, Your Royal Highness", but an appropriate response to her older brother's behavior.

Ever since they arrived in Windsor, Niklaus' been acting like a caged wolf that will pounce at any moment. At first, it was mildly amusing and very curious to see him out of sorts, but now it's become quite awkward if you ask her. They are English, for goodness' sake. They do not have the time or inclination to display emotions in such a manner.

"Honestly, brother," she finally says, bringing the white porcelain cup to her lips to take a sip of the Earl Grey. Not her favorite, but her mother refuses to keep the jasmine white tea stocked. "I know being summoned for lunch is a bit ridiculous, but I didn't expect you to be so miserable."

To be fair, they are _all_ in various degrees of miserable at this precise moment. Following her advisors' counsel, Esther all but ordered her children to come to Windsor for a Sunday roast. It's laughable and Rebekah suspects it's another ploy to prove just how "normal" they are and it will end up in the pages of Hello! – _Her Majesty cooks a roast for the family!_

Elijah, who seems to be engrossed in a Charles Dickens book, pauses and turns to look at Rebekah. With practiced subtlety, he shakes his head as if to say 'not now, Rebekah'. Admittedly, she's already used to being quietly admonished – Elijah can be far too proper for his own good sometimes – but not this. Not the weird glances he's giving her.

"Despite any evidence of the contrary, I am still equipped with eyesight and impeccable hearing," Klaus finally drones out; his eyes still glued to his iPhone's bright screen.

As of two days ago, he's developed a new obsession of searching for every new article talking about Bonnie and their relationship and going through every word with clinical precision. Just like his late-night cig, this is an unhealthy habit. One that does nothing to soothe the quiet rage and heartbreak that's been simmering under his polite cover.

Bloody hell, how could he be so fucking naive? He knew about some of the unflattering words. It happens to every woman linked to him or his brothers. This time, however, is different. There's something perverse in the way the writers gleefully point out Bonnie's "unusual background" and her "upwardly mobile ways". In the way they are puzzled by Bonnie as if she's a zoo attraction, confused as to how she can even navigate in the same circles as his. Klaus would love to be able to ignore all of it, but the disgusting comments and Bonnie's heartbroken expression keep playing in his mind.

"Niklaus, please don't-" Elijah's pleading is interrupted by a footman opening the door for their mother.

Without any of the reverence one would expect when addressing the Queen, Klaus crosses the room in a few steps and stares down at Esther.

"A word, mother?"

00000

"This is ludicrous, Niklaus!" Esther cries out after reading the text her son hastily prepared on his phone. Her pale face has an unhealthy blush, a telltale sign of her growing anxiety.

Despite – or perhaps because – of her position, Esther despises confrontation and avoids taking any action that will lead to it. Her reaction to his – admittedly strong and somewhat unorthodox – proposed response doesn't come as a surprise to Klaus. He refuses to cower, though.

"What I find ludicrous, mother," Klaus starts to say, surprised that his voice is so calm. It would seem that the roles are reversed, with Esther red-faced and displaying anxiety while he remains impassive. "Is the fact that we are supposed to accept whatever the papers say, even if they border on libelous, with grace and a smile."

"You forget this is our burden, Niklaus," Esther reminds him with a sigh that conveys her frustration. Once again, this particular topic is cause for contention among them. "We are awarded enormous privilege and as such, we must contend with certain unpleasantries."

Klaus snorts at her choice of words. Unpleasantry is a poorly prepared cup of tea or losing a polo match to Kol's team, the horrible winner. Seeing his girlfriend and her family be maligned and described in odious words under a polite disguise is a bit more than that.

"I should contend with a reporter calling Bonnie an interloper who intends to infiltrate our family? Or with paparazzi attempting to invade her grandmother's house?" Klaus wonders, a weird sense of satisfaction running through him when he sees Elijah's and Esther's faces contort into an uncomfortable grimace. Good. Let them be uncomfortable with this. Let them feel a minute fraction of what he feels.

"Nik-" Esther's voice drops an octave, becoming softer and cajoling.

"Must I remind you of our past agreement? When you acquiesced to a statement being released should this situation ever happened?" Klaus asks, arching an eyebrow and cocking his head to the side.

"I do not offer objections to _a _statement, one that's carefully drafted by the press office," she says, looking at the phone in his hand with barely-disguised disdain. "Not one that you wrote in a moment of anger. You cannot chastise the papers. It will only rile them up."

"You seem to believe I hold any type of consideration to what they might think. I do not," Klaus replies with a voice that leaves no room for discussion, causing Esther and Elijah to exchange a concerned glance.

A short-tempered Niklaus is something they both understand. They know how to navigate that particular terrain. This new Niklaus, however, is calm and positively unyielding; an unfamiliar character to them.

"Brother, perhaps we could edit your words so they are not as..."

"Aggressive?" Klaus wonders with a quiet chuckle, rubbing at the two-day-old stubble on his jaw with impatience. "That is precisely the intention of my words. Tell me, brother, how would you feel if Gianna and her family were being harassed, and every single day there was a disparaging headline about her? Would you be silent?"

Though Elijah's expression remains placid, Niklaus' words affect him. Three years ago, he was the one in his brother's place, being made to contend with the malicious coverage about his then-fiancée. _You're a future King, Elijah and you must remain above such petty squabbles_, his mother's advisors said to him multiple times at the time. He complied and stayed above the fray, cut ribbons, shook hands and attended the Duchy meetings. All while grappling with a keen sense of guilt and shame. He could have used his position to do something, to protect Gia and he did nothing.

"Niklaus is right, mother," Elijah finally says, turning his attention to Esther, whose blue eyes widen in surprise. "We cannot remain hostage to them, not in such a way."

Unsure of how to respond, Esther fiddles with the hem of her wool skirt and taps her right foot on the dark hardwood floor. Now, this is utterly unexpected of him. Her firstborn, much like herself after ascending to the throne, has always understood the demands placed on him and their family and has accepted them. For him to disregard decades of royal protocol is inconceivable to Esther.

Clearing his throat, Robert Followes walks from his out-of-sight position by the door to approach them.

"If you allow me," he says with a small parcel of hesitation after noticing the pure fire simmering on Niklaus' eyes. "Perhaps Her Majesty means to say that any statement directed to the media will only serve to rile them up. We mustn't dignify them with a response."

A lesser man would have shrunk at the incensed stare the younger prince directs his way, but Followes simply straightens up and brings his hands to his back.

"Yes, thank you, Robert," Esther says, unable to conceal her relief. Finally, a rational person who understands her point. For a moment, she wishes Mikael was here and not out hunting. Though a bit too confrontational, her husband can bring order in a way she cannot do so, which is quite ironic. "This is precisely what I mean."

"Then look at it this way: this could be an opportunity to show the public this family is not stuck in the last century, an institution that cares for something more than ancient traditions," Klaus points out, opting for a cynical route and rolls his eyes when he notices Esther's hesitation when considering his words.

If nothing else works, their desire for positive publicity would be quite a convincing argument.

"Again, I tend to agree with Nik," Elijah says, which surprises Klaus. He would usually be on the losing side whenever there's a conversation between them involving their mother and her private secretary. "For the better part of the year, we've been criticized for being disconnected from the people. It's about time we show concern for someone else."

Followes makes a choked sound that amuses Klaus even though he can't quite understand. Judging by the way the older man is looking at Elijah, one could tell he has murder in his mind, Elijah's status as heir to the throne be damned.

"You raise a fine point, Your Highness. However, one must consider the implications of the Palace becoming involved instead of maintaining its usual distance." Followes argues; a last halfhearted attempt to steer the Queen from the, frankly, daft decision.

"If you do not wish for the Palace to become involved, I'll tweet this myself. Problem solved," Klaus offers with a simple shrug that doesn't match the weight of his ultimatum. He chuckles at the thought.

Still poised on the chair – a true aristocratic lady must never lose her poise, no matter the circumstance – Esther's eyes turn from her sons to Robert.

After years with her private secretary, she knows exactly what he's attempting to convey without uttering a single word. It hardly matters because she's going to ignore his advice, a rare occasion during her reign. The subtle nod confirms it.

"Send it to the press office and have them release it on Monday."

* * *

"You know what, I can stay a little longer," Bonnie announces with some hesitation as she finishes the last of her sweet tea. "I just need to call Mary and maybe Kevin."

Bonnie almost laughs to herself at her obvious delusion. She _couldn't_ stay a little longer and if she wanted to do that, it would involve a complicated process of multiple international calls, probably some emails and rehearsals she couldn't afford to miss.

The thought of leaving the next day, of leaving the safety of Caroline's and Grams' arms to return to dreary London, to her apartment where she broke up with Nik, is anxiety-inducing. For the first time in years, Bonnie wants to stay right there, in the small town she once yearned to leave behind.

The swarm of paparazzi, most of them desperate to uncover anything related to Prince Klaus' girl, disbanded after Sheriff Forbes flashed her badge and threatened to take them to the police station.

"Do you take me for a fool, Bonnie?" Sheila asks; lips curled in an amused smile and a no-nonsense voice. "I raised you and know when you're lying."

"I'm not lying, I'm just..." Bonnie says shrugging helplessly when she can't figure out the right word to complete her sentence.

The word that eludes her is _afraid_. Bonnie's afraid of what she will find when she returns to London. She's also afraid of what could happen after she leaves. Would Grams be thrown to the wolves along with her dad – temporarily stationed in Toronto for work – and Caroline? The last thing she wants is for her family to be punished because she dared to date a prince.

"Bonnie, I spent most of my life in the South, during Jim Crow," Sheila reminds her granddaughter; warm voice despite her words. "To this day, there are still people who don't believe I should teach at Whitmore. Whatever these reporters and photographers try to do will be insignificant."

"They tried to break into your house, Grams, and published a story about you being a witch, basically calling you a savage when compared to Nik's mom. It's not insignificant and it's my fault," Bonnie says, feeling the familiar weight settle deep in her stomach.

"Oh, child," Sheila sighs, patting the empty spot on the couch next to her. Just like they would do when she was a little girl, Bonnie shuffles to Sheila's side and sighs in content.

In that moment, snuggled in Grams' arms and inhaling her juniper scent, Bonnie realizes why she got on a plane and crossed the Atlantic Ocean. Why she returned to Mystic Falls even though her presence there wasn't needed in the slightest.

She's missed this. An afternoon with Grams, watching movies on their lumpy couch while Grams braids her hair and raindrops patter against the window. London is where she's made a name for herself, where she got a ten-minute curtain call and standing ovation after being promoted to principal dancer. It's where she swiftly and unwisely fell in love with a prince. But it's not home. Not yet.

"These people are afraid of their little world-changing," Sheila explains, tracing familiar circles on Bonnie's back. "And I'm a black woman from Virginia. They don't like the prospect of me being equal to their Queen. They did this to attack you, to make you doubt yourself."

"Well, it worked like a charm," Bonnie says with a scoff, once again feeling stupid and so weak when compared to Grams and her understated resilience. "I thought I could handle whatever they threw my way, but I don't know anymore. Not to mention, it's not worth it, right? To go through all of this for nothing."

Sheila's fingers halt their movement in surprise. Just a few days ago, Bonnie was floating while talking about her Niklaus. While it scared the daylights out of Sheila – she knew enough about the royal family to understand her granddaughter was no match for them – seeing Bonnie with such unbridled joy was enough to make her happy.

"Worth it?"

"Let's face it, Grams. I'm not the girl who gets to marry a prince and wear the big poofy dress," Bonnie says, shrugging her shoulders in resignation. "This fairytale happy ending isn't reserved for me."

"Oh, Bonnie," Sheila murmurs; her fingers resuming their soothing movement on Bonnie's back. "Believe me, you have no idea what's reserved for you. Don't try to be wiser than the Universe itself."

"But I thought you told me to-"

"I am your grandmother, I raised you," Sheila says as she cups Bonnie's face with her other hand; hazel eyes softening with a mixture of love and pride. "Of course I worry. But you shouldn't guide your life based on my worries."

Just like that, Bonnie feels a tickle on the back of her throat and her eyes sting with unshed tears.

"You love that man and from what you tell me, he loves the daylights out of you. That is all I want for my grandbaby."

Those last words do it for Bonnie and her world becomes blurry. Everything she's been holding for the past few days comes out in the form of quiet sobs that shake her body and leave her out of breath. It hurts- literally, her head is throbbing when she's done – but she needed that. She needed to stop pretending she wasn't confused and exhausted. Needed to have Grams by her side and allow herself to be vulnerable for once.

"Thank you, Grams," Bonnie and smiling face whispers with a sniffle, wrapping both arms around the older woman. "I really missed you."

Sheila smiles and pats her on the cheek; her usual_ "it's okay"_ gesture. It instantly makes Bonnie feel better. Yeah, she'll be okay. Even if she's terrified of going back to London and facing the music.

* * *

_Buckingham Palace_

_A statement by the communications secretary to Prince Niklaus_

_10 October 2019_

_Prince Niklaus understands that his life attracts considerable interest from the British people and he is very appreciative of all the support and warmth he's received from members of the public throughout the years. He also understands he leads a privileged and fortunate life. _

_He is aware that, due to his position, there is a lot of curiosity surrounding his private life. Even though he has never been comfortable with this, he's tried to deal with such scrutiny as best as he could._

_However, the past week has seen a line being crossed by the media. His girlfriend, Bonnie Bennett, has been subject to a wave of unprecedented harassment and abuse. Some of this has been very public. A major newspaper published a smearing article about Miss Bennett's family and other media outlets followed suit, many publishing comment pieces with uncomfortable racial undertones. Various websites also allowed comments displaying a shocking amount of sexism and racism, some even threatening Miss Bennett's safety. There were also occasions hidden from the public, such as legal action taken to prevent Miss Bennett's address from being published to reporter and photographers making attempts to gain illegal entry to Miss Bennett's grandmother's house. _

_This situation has caused Prince Niklaus to worry about Miss Bennett's safety and he is deeply disappointed he has not been able to protect her. It is unfair that a few months into the relationship with him, Miss Bennett should be the target for such unwarranted attacks. Prince Niklaus understands that some will claim she knows this is the price to be paid and part of the game, but he disagrees. This is not a game, it is her life and his._

_This statement was issued in the hopes of causing some reflection amongst those who are pushing such stories. He knows it is unusual to release a statement like this, but he hopes the public understands why he was compelled to do so._

* * *

_Bzzz bzzzz_

Bonnie looks down at her tote bag, frowning in confusion when she feels her phone vibrating with _another_ text. It's not unusual for her phone to come alive after being turned off for a long flight, but this _nonstop _buzzing is something else. It almost reminds her of –

Her line of thinking is promptly interrupted by the news footage playing on one of the airport's giant television screens. BBC Newsnight. A picture of Nik appears with impeccable resolution and under his face, a chyron with bright loud words.

_A royal first: Prince Niklaus reprimands media for reports about his girlfriend Bonnie Bennett_

In the middle of the barely populated terminal five at Heathrow, Bonnie freezes; one hand gripping the handle of her Away suitcase and her eyes are fixed on the screen above her. She barely recognizes herself when old footage of her dancing Romeo and Juliet's balcony pas de deux fills the screen.

"_Prince Niklaus has broken the royal rule of staying silent and defended his girlfriend, American ballerina Bonnie Bennett, from racist and sexist comments online and reporters. He admitted to feeling deeply disappointed in not being able to protect her. This is a first for Buckingham Palace, as it has..."_

Blood starts to rush through her ears, her heartbeat becoming violent, and Bonnie can't quite catch the end of the sentence. Nik had – _what?_

Out of all scenarios she had envisioned during the seven-hour flight, this was not one of them. Bonnie was prepared to have Nik walk away from her – well, not prepared but oddly resigned to it. She was also prepared to go back to their comfortable routine of weekends at Hertfordshire and sneaking by photographers' invasive lens.

Bonnie's still disoriented when she turns her back to the screen and moves to the exit, trudging along with uncertain steps. Her phone continues to buzz and beep in a cacophony of unpleasant sounds – she can't distinguish the sound from a simple text or an incoming call – while the journalist's words, _Nik's words,_ play on repeat in the back of her mind.

_Deeply disappointed for not being able to protect her. Not being able to protect her. _

The harsh, frigid air hits Bonnie on the face, providing a much-needed wake-up call. She may have gotten one of the craziest news of her adult life, but she still needs to get a cab, go home and deal with this.

Just before she can sigh in frustration at the thought of being overcharged, a black Land Rover pulls up at the passenger pick-up curb. The car has that inconspicuous, stately quality that makes it easy for Bonnie to figure out the passenger's identity.

His figure, slouched against the leather seat, appears when the door is opened. A sense of overwhelming relief washes through her the moment she sees his face. His handsome, familiar and smiling face.

"Hello, love. I believe you may require a ride," Klaus comments; his accent sounding particularly British to Bonnie after her short time back in Virginia.

She's missed it.

"Now that you mention it, I think I'd appreciate one."

* * *

**A/N: _Comes out of hiding. _Sorry, guys, but at least this is an extra long one. I'm already working on the next chapter, so hopefully it won't take me years to update. Yes, Nik's statement was 100% inspired by Prince Harry's 2016 statement! I hope I was able to show just how crazy he is for Bonnie. ****Let me know what y'all think!**


	10. Chapter 10

_A ROYAL FIRST: inside the now contentious relationship involving Prince Niklaus and the British press._

_Going against royal convention, Buckingham Palace has issued a statement on behalf of Prince Niklaus, confirming his relationship with Bonnie Bennett and admonishing the press for "damaging" articles. What effects will this cause?_

_By Emily Roberts _

_The relationship between the royal family and the press has been tenuous for the last few decades, a carefully choreographed give-and-take. The illustrious family needs the media to spread their initiatives and to generate goodwill among the public. The media needs the royal family to sell newspapers and online subscriptions. _

_As cynic as it may sound, it's the truth. The royal family – in particular, this young and photogenic family - has an understanding with the British press. That is why Prince Niklaus' decision to release a very stern statement condemning the media for their treatment of his girlfriend Bonnie Bennett was received with absolute surprise by media corps. _

"_It is certainly an unprecedented move," Patricia Taylor, a senior royal reporter from Hello Magazine, said. "The Palace has a strict policy of staying mum on speculating articles. For one, they know that acknowledging them may have the opposite effect and draw unwarranted attention. They also don't want to disturb the delicate relationship they have with tabloids, which makes such a rebuke unheard of. I have spoken to reporters that work for such publications and they were not happy with the words coming from Buckingham Palace. Some of them believe that it is not the place of the Palace to chastise them when they are responsible for keeping interest in the Monarchy alive."_

_Her bold assessment may be accurate, but where does one draw the line? Though there's a case to be made for looking at royal members with close attention, why should private citizens be stamped on the cover of The Sun, under a salacious headline? It is rumored that the latest piece on the Daily Mail about Bonnie Bennett's grandmother was what prompted Prince Klaus' office to go ahead with the bombshell statement. This is not surprising, considering the less-than-kind words used to describe her in the papers. _

_The contemporary world represented by Twitter users thoroughly disagreed with the royal rota's opinion, many applauding the prince's decision to stand up for his girlfriend and confront the British tabloids. Even though Patricia isn't as strict as the more traditional royal reporters, she also has reservations about what Prince Klaus' actions may bring in the future. _

"_I do believe it was a lovely, rather romantic gesture. However, this only puts a magnifying lens on Miss Bennett. Historically, the Palace refuses to comment on such matters. Just a few years ago, press officers would not confirm if Prince Elijah was dating Gianna Rosso, even though the couple had been photographed together around London. Their willingness to issue a statement that essentially tells the media to 'leave her alone' shows how serious the couple has become in the past months and it may backfire because now every single royal reporter will start watching her very closely, waiting for a certain announcement."_

* * *

_Kensington Palace, London_

Enveloped by the warmth of the fleece blanket and the softness of high thread count sheets, Bonnie sighs in unabashed content. With his chest pressed flush to her back, Nik leaves a trail of fluttering kisses wherever his lips can reach. Despite their heated session in the shower, his caresses still hold a hint of desperation. It's like they've come together after a season apart instead of just a few days.

"I am commanding you to never leave again," Klaus murmurs right against her left ear, nipping on the lobe just a little. She shivers, prompting a cocky smirk from him. "You mustn't leave England and most importantly, this bed."

"Some of us do have to work for a living, Your Highness," Bonnie replies with a giggle, moving to sit up only to be immediately pulled back into his arms. She turns around to face him, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. "You know we need to talk."

Mirroring her movement, he burrows his fingers through her damp curls and releases a sigh of frustration mixed with resignation.

"Must we? I find the act of talking utterly overestimated," he argues with a pout, tempted to kiss her into forgetfulness until she can barely remember the events of the past week. Not only is he completely unaccustomed with having meaning conversations – such action is just unheard of among his family members – but his last attempt ended with Bonnie on a plane to America. Needless to say, that is an experience he would very much like to avoid.

Even though Bonnie has never been one for ignoring a pressing matter, she's allowed Klaus to keep distracting her with kisses and that ridiculously comfortable bed of his. The prospect of facing her newfound reality – which now includes watching Anderson Cooper discussing her relationship on CNN – is even more intimidating now, if that's even possible. Not only is she completely exposed to the public (no more weak denials) but she's also pretty sure Nik ignored at least five official royal rules to release that statement.

A statement that's part love letter, part threatening move, and the most romantic yet terrifying thing to ever happen to her. Bonnie's barely had time to process the situation or its implications, and now everything is hitting her all at once. Just a few days ago she was furiously throwing clothes into a suitcase, buying an overpriced flight ticket, and breaking up with Nik. Now, she's in his bed, wrapped up in him, figuratively and literally. The whiplash is enough to make her dizzy and she can't take it.

Klaus sighs as he settles a hand on the curve of her hip, almost as if to reassure himself that she is indeed there and will stay there no matter the outcome of this conversation.

"Alright, love, ask away. I promise to be as truthful as I can be."

Bonnie chuckles as she pats him on the cheek; not surprised with his forthright response. Nik's always strived to offer her his complete honesty, even when he wasn't able to make much sense of his feelings.

"How did you even know I was coming back today? Not that I mind the reception."

Walking out of the airport terminal - exhausted after a ten-hour-flight and dazed in the wake of discovering the world knew about her "royal romance"- to be greeted by Klaus (who was accompanied by his RPO, of course) was everything Bonnie didn't know she needed.

After the incident involving Grams and unhinged photographers, rushing back to a drab and grey London, and the repercussions of her hasty decision to end her relationship dawning on her, Bonnie was due for a meltdown.

"Taking pity on me and starting with the easy questions?" He snickers, laughing even harder when Bonnie fixes him with a glare. "If you must know, your lovely Grams assisted me with that."

Bonnie jolts up into a sitting position. "You talked to Grams? My Grams?"

"Well, I'm not in the business of randomly calling strangers' grannies," Klaus says with a shrug, snorting at her look of absolute puzzlement. "So yes, I did speak to Mrs. Sheila Bennett. She chastised me for breaking your heart, which, naturally was quite surprising to me, since you were the one to batter my poor heart."

Feeling her face and neck becoming warm with embarrassment, Bonnie is overcome with the urge to hide under the covers. In her defense, she didn't exactly lie to Grams. She was just stingy with the details when explaining to Grams why she was on her front porch instead of a rehearsal studio.

It didn't feel right to lament the demise of her relationship when Grams was going through it. However, Bonnie would concede that it was foolish of her not to anticipate that her grandmother would fill in the blanks with inaccurate information.

"So she went from scolding you to sharing my personal information?" She wonders, not too surprised by the turn of events. Despite the somewhat cold and inaccessible exterior, Nik could be perilously charming.

"We also made plans for tea," he supplies with a bright grin, tapping her arm at an inconsistent rhythm. "Can you believe she hasn't had a properly brewed Darjeeling?"

Bonnie snorts, not sure what to make of this new development. Her positive side peers its figurative head to remind her that this is a good thing. The thought of Nik - in his worn-out merino wool sweater – standing on her kitchen as Grams makes sweet potato pie is enough to coax a smile out of her.

It should be as incongruent as the thought of her having pizza at two in the morning in his apartment on Kensington Palace's grounds, getting tomato sauce on his luxurious sheets. But here they are, and maybe their realities can coexist without much trouble.

"I will say that I was surprised," Klaus continues, throwing a casual arm over his head. "She was quite agreeable on changing her horrid views on hot beverages and decidedly against the protection officers I arranged to accompany her for the following weeks."

The unceremonious tone of his voice doesn't match the gravity of his words, causing a two-second delay for Bonnie to react. Not that she would have a big reaction to display. Stunned into silence, all Bonnie can do is to stare at him, not caring if she's giving a lovely rendition of a gaping goldfish.

"What?" It's all Bonnie can manage to sputter out, inspecting his face for a sign of deception. She doesn't find any.

He pushes the covers aside and scoots closer to her, breathing in the faint scent of the oatmeal lotion clinging to her skin. With a finger under her chin, Klaus inches her head so Bonnie can meet his eyes.

"My statement, I meant every single word. I should have protected you the moment the tabloids started speculating about your identity. I failed to do that."

His splayed palm cradles her jaw, and Bonnie can sense quiet anguish in him; such a foreign trait for the overly confident man. It's almost as if he's desperate for her to believe him. She does, of course she does. The answer to his unasked request comes in the form of a small, familiar gesture. A small kiss on the palm of his hand that elicits a relieved sigh from him.

"An old mate of mine in America owes me a favour," Klaus says as if that explains everything. It certainly doesn't, but they can discuss the particulars later. "He'll make sure your family is safe. I should have never allowed this to get to that awful point. Rest assured, I will not make the same mistake again."

Bonnie blinks, trying to take everything in. Even though she's painfully aware of their relationship's breakneck pace, it's just dawning on her where they are. After exchanging "I love you", meeting two of his siblings, escapades to the countryside, and Botswana, Bonnie knows they're serious enough. At least, way more serious than any of her past relationships. But this? This feels bigger than anything she's ever known.

"I freaked out and broke up with you like a fifteen-year-old girl and you did all of that. Why?"

"Because you were right, love," he admits, fiddling with an unruly curl that's escaped from her bun. "I should have foreseen this ridiculous overreaction and what the press would put you and your family through. Not quite the prince charming you expected, heh?"

His tone is so obviously self-deprecating that Bonnie is overcome with the urge to end the conversation and kiss all of his insecurities away.

"I love you because you're Niklaus Theodore Henry Alexander, not because of your title," Bonnie assures him, sighing as she tries to put all of her thoughts into words. "But you do have a title and that comes with things that scare the shit out of me. You grew up with cameras on you, you're used to people studying your every move and creating ridiculous conspiracies to explain why you're not smiling."

Christ, it sounds even crazier when she says it out loud. Bonnie is no stranger to public attention, but this is unlike anything she's ever experienced. Walking down a red carpet or posing for an eventual photoshoot and replying to fans on Instagram couldn't even compare to the blinding glare placed on her. When the tabloids weren't printing ridiculous stories, the royal fans were online, flooding her social media with weird emojis and nonsensical comments. It is enough to drive a well-balanced person to a meltdown. All things considered, Bonnie figures she's been coping pretty well.

"Goodness, even my ridiculous name sounds good when you say it," he comments with a boyish smile, unsure of how to respond. He's always known that any woman connected to him would be _gifted_ with the public's undivided attention and the tabs' scrutiny, has accepted it as a fact of life. And yet, Klaus still cannot help the dull pang of guilt that settles on his stomach whenever he looks at her and thinks of all the grief she's been through. Simply because she decided to give his sorry arse a chance. "And I know I come with hefty baggage, but let me carry some of the weight, will you? I would like to think I'm strong enough for that; I am a bloody veteran, after all. We'll do this together."

* * *

_Buckingham Palace, London_

"Printed on Monday and today," Martin says as he retrieves two items from his customary dark leather fold and places them side by side on the desk.

Two newspaper copies, one from the Daily Mail and the other from the Sun. Both papers have a picture of a smiling Bonnie Bennett on their covers, accompanied by attention-grabbing headlines. Ignoring his mother's reddening face; Klaus leans forward to take a look and snorts at the Mail's ridiculous front page.

_NIK'S GIRL IS FULL OF OPINIONS! Bonnie Bennett slams politicians from both sides of the pond on her blog. _

"Oh, the absolute horror! A woman having opinions of her own!" Klaus exclaims with a mocking, scandalized gasp. "Honestly, mother, I thought you were a modern woman."

If Esther's pale skin had a noticeable blush before, her neck now flushes in patches of violent red as she narrows her eyes at Klaus. Despite being used to witnessing disagreements between family members, Martin flinches and diverts his eyes from the uncomfortable tableau to the spread out papers. Placing them together, one could argue they all seemed to be quite daft.

"I fail to see how my standing as a modern woman matters in this situation," Esther huffs, fixing him with a glare that indicates she is _not _amused. "And you understand exactly why this could be an issue, Niklaus."

Ah, their unspoken yet constantly enforced rule of being divorced from politics. They could hobnob with most of the world's politicians, the government was formed in Her Majesty's name, but God forbid they expressed a smidgen of thought that could be construed as an opinion.

"No, absolutely not," Klaus says, already figuring what his mother would say in her next sentence. "Bonnie's a private citizen and free to have a blog and write about whatever she wants."

"It would seem," Martin clears his throat before speaking in the usually measured words. "That issuing a statement has caused the public to perceive Miss Bennett as an extension of the royal family, and as such, her words are-"

"Unfairly scrutinized and used against her?" Klaus wonders; his tone dripping with scorn.

Even though Martin has enough experience in handling members of the royal family after navigating through the Palace as a high ranking officer for decades, he has to resist the urge to display his surprise. After all, the Clarences are not exactly known for being passionate about something other than horses or grouse hunting. Niklaus, in particular, has never shown an inclination to anything after his unwilling departure from the Army. Watching him continuing to so fiercely defend the girl is quite stunning, especially considering his lukewarm behavior towards his previous companion.

"Oh, poppycock!" Esther bristles; the feet of the Georgian mahogany chair scraping against the carpet as she stands up in impatience. "You were aware of what would happen once the media knew of your relationship."

Their eyes – both pairs an identical shade of blue – meet, and Esther's expression softens. _I warned you, my son, _are her unspoken words. At that moment, her posture shifts. No longer is she Her Majesty, the Queen, a sovereign concerned with potential scandals and silly issues. She is merely Esther, a mother thinking of her son.

Out of all her children, Niklaus has always been the one who required the most of her. Esther, a young Princess of Wales burdened with the weight of her future role bearing down on her, was not able to offer him what was needed. Despite her stiff upper lip and penchant for carrying on, that is a personal failure that continues to haunt her after decades.

"Thank you, Martin," Esther says as she turns to her deputy private secretary.

Her words, combined with an imperceptible inch of the head, abruptly mark the end of the audience. Martin gathers the items spread out on the table into a neat pile.

"Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness," he says with a bow before leaving the room.

"Is this when you gloat about being right?" Klaus asks, scoffing as he glances once more at the ridiculous headline.

"I do not gloat, Niklaus. It's unbecoming," she huffs with a barely-there smile and sighs when Klaus offers no reaction. "Darling, you cannot possibly be this cross over a few articles. While I understand why you're hesitant to do consider it, the best option in this situation is for Miss Bennett is to shut down her blog."

"This is _not_ an option, mother," Klaus replies; a hard edge on the tone of his voice making it clear that he will not budge on this matter. "I find it a bit ludicrous of you to suggest that, honestly."

Already used to ignoring the words Niklaus mutters under his breath, Esther lets the last part go.

"Well, then perhaps she could write about dance and fashion? Lighter topics instead of mucky politics."

"Lighter topics instead of mucky politics?" Klaus repeats with incredulity, feeling bloody pathetic for even saying these words.

Klaus understands they reside in castles that have stood for centuries and follow traditions set during Queen Victoria's reign. However, he can't help but abhor their willingness to remain as antiquated as possible, to be seen as little more than relics of the past dressed in somewhat modern clothing. If this particular issue was a minor discontent in the past, it is now proper irksome for Klaus to ascribe to such a way of living.

"What else would be innocuous enough to be associated with the Royal House of Clarence? Gardening? Or cooking, perhaps?" Klaus wonders with a healthy amount of sarcasm lacing his words. A sardonic laugh comes out before he can help it. "Bonnie is a woman who cares about _those _mucky topics. She talks about them because she knows she can help in some way. One would believe that is precisely what the royal family should be doing."

Despite her superb ability to control her facial expressions – a basic skill required of every royal family member – Esther's pale thin eyebrows rise, almost blending with her hairline.

Objectively speaking, Esther knows Niklaus is right. Helping others is a great part of their job, and in an ideal world, Miss Bennett's dedication should be lauded instead of scrutinized. However, they were dealing with tabloids and it surprises her that Klaus still expects any form of decency or fairness from them.

"You are right, Niklaus," Esther acquiesces after a moment of pensive silence, returning to her previous spot by the desk. It's his turn to look surprised; facial features contorted into an obvious frown. She chuckles; her first light-hearted laugh ever since the start of the conversation. "Oh, don't look so surprised. I do know when to concede. As for Miss Bennett, I shall like to meet her. It is hardly proper to keep discussing the girl when I haven't even met her."

Klaus blinks once, twice, before nodding; his lips curled in a genuine, knowing smile. That is far more than he could ask of his mother for now.

* * *

**Anne Reed** ( helloanne)

ROYAL SCOOP: Bennett will attend the reception celebrating Royal Ballet's Anniversary at Buck Palace with Prince Niklaus. This is the first time the couple will appear in public together after PN's scorching statement to the media.

2:35 PM - Nov 02, 2019 - Twitter for iPhone

**150** Retweets **3.5 K **Likes

* * *

Meeting your boyfriend's parents should be an easy event. Bonnie wouldn't know it firsthand. Having dated Jeremy, whose own parents perished in a tragic car accident, and Enzo, who was not on good terms with either parent, she's lacking the necessary experience to navigate the situation. Not that her experience- or lack thereof- would matter. Neither Jeremy nor Enzo had the Queen of England for a mother. And meeting Her Majesty, the Queen is -

"A carefully constructed choreography, albeit a rather boring one," Cami informs Bonnie, laughing at the ballerina's astonished expression. "It is as if you've seen a ghost, Bonnie. I admit this can sound a bit daunting at first, but you get used to it after a while."

"I'm being tutored on the proper way to greet and talk to my boyfriend's mom," Bonnie says, shaking her head at the sheer incredulity of it all. "I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to it."

There were times when the reality of just who Nik was would slip her mind. This is not one of them. With Nik's light schedule on public engagements, Cami was promptly dispatched to Bonnie's apartment with the mission of instructing the clueless American on every aspect of royal protocol that should be observed when meeting royalty in a formal setting.

"Oh, cease with the dramatics, darling," Celeste pleads as she reappears in the living room; flutes of champagne dangling from her fingers and a chilled bottle of rosé on the other hand. "You're a prima ballerina. If you cannot do a proper curtsy, I'm afraid the rest of us are doomed. Now, champagne?"

"Sure," Bonnie says with an eager nod as she accepts the flute, holding it up for Celeste to fill it. "Not too much, though. I still need to understand what Cami's saying."

"I think we went over everything by now, Bonnie," Cami says, mouthing a _thank you_ to Celeste as she accepts the drink. "You curtsy, call her Your Majesty for the first time and then ma'am for the rest of the conversation. Oh, and don't turn your back to her."

"At the risk of being sent to the Tower," Bonnie mumbles, laughing at the prospect of being detained at Her Majesty's pleasure for the offense of showing her back or failing to demonstrate the proper amount of deference.

"Thankfully, Queen Esther does not have that type of power anymore, so it's at the risk of being on the receiving end of a rather intimidating frown," Cami jokes as takes a careful sip of champagne; an easy smile on her face. "You'll be fine, Bonnie."

"No need to look so nauseous, Bonnie," Celeste says; and Bonnie wishes she could inhale some of the confidence oozed by the other woman. But then again, Celeste has been rubbing shoulders with British aristocrats for the better part of her life. She is one of _those_ people who congregate at Wimbledon and Royal Horse Show. Meeting the Queen is probably something she does on an uneventful Thursday. "Cami will agree with me when I say that the Queen asking to meet you is a good sign."

"Ah, yes to both," Cami agrees with a distracted tone as she checks her beeping phone for a quick moment. "You do look a bit peaky and it is a very good sign, Celeste is correct."

Celeste preens in the way she only does when being complimented and Bonnie groans in self-pity, bringing both hands to her face.

"I guess, it's just…stupid, but I thought that meeting her at the Gala for the first time sounds almost like a cop-out?" Bonnie says; her words spoken with a questioning inflection. "We'll barely speak two words to each other. I thought she would want to meet over tea and..."

Bonnie trails off, making a gesture with both hands that doesn't mean anything and frowns she watches Celeste and Cami exchanging a glance.

"Oh, Niklaus has been far too remiss in explaining the social politics of his family," Celeste tuts with a miffed head shake as she drains her glass. "Bonnie, the purpose of this isn't to get to know your personality and hobbies."

Brushing a strand of hair behind her right ear, Bonnie feels her face warming up in pink blush. Of course, why did Bonnie think she would be able to strike up a conversation about horses as if the Queen wasn't, well, the damn Queen?

"Then what is this about?" Bonnie asks with a frown, once again puzzled by the set of bewildering rules. "A way to placate Nik or to put on a big show to pretend we have her acceptance?"

"If you must understand one thing about the royal family, understand that perception is reality," Cami shares with a subtle eye roll, and Bonnie suspects the blonde knows the _exact_ reality behind the glowing coverage that surrounds the royals. The thought of being at a world's stage 24/7 makes Bonnie's stomach crumple, but she ignores it. "Queen Esther is conscious of how powerful it is for you to attend the Gala with Klaus. Make no mistake, this is also an opportunity to test you, see how well you can handle the attention."

"Basically," Celeste explains as she uncrosses her legs and rises from the couch; her attention now focused on the pretty dresses hanging from the rack. Bonnie rolls her eyes with a smile. Just like a moth drawn to the light, Celeste can't ignore the selection of colorful silk, crepe and satin dresses for too long. "The Queen knows that if you show up with Klaus, the world will assume you enjoy her approval and you won't have to exchange a word. As for tea, that is sacred to her. The woman invites prime ministers and heads of states for tea. When you're summoned for _that, _I reckon you'll have a ring on your finger."

It's the first time someone other than herself mentions this scenario out loud and fuck, Celeste is speaking as if that's not just some deluded fantasy her mind's concocted. Cami nods instead of bringing them back to reality and damn if Bonnie doesn't feel faint at the mere thought.

"Now that's settled and we've tutored you on how to be the most proper English Rose, what do you think?" Celeste asks, holding up a navy blue Temperley floor-length dress and a black Ralph Lauren. "I'm quite partial to the Ralph Lauren myself. It sends a message, doesn't it?"

* * *

After considering several evening dresses, Bonnie decides to heed Celeste's advice and opts for the Ralph Lauren. She still doesn't quite know what message it sends other than _American commoner wears American designer_, but at least Caroline (_"You look straight up fire!"_) and Nik seem to be impressed with it.

"You'd think I look like a mess most of the time when I'm around you," Bonnie murmurs in good nature, blushing as she takes Nik's arms, carefully maneuvering the floor-length skirt so she doesn't trip up.

"Hush, love, I wish to admire you while I still can," Klaus says, deviating from the path they're supposed to follow and into a secluded corner. "I suspect we'll be enraptured in dreadfully dull conversations for the next hour."

Bonnie swallows down the urge to admonish him for breaking the rules when she realizes this is – or was – his home. The rules of _walk straight ahead, have your invitation at hand and no pictures allowed _do not apply to him. A stern guard will not appear out of a secret cove to snap at them. It hits her all over again; the reality of whom he is and where they are.

"For the record, you clean up well yourself_,_" she compliments, straightening his slightly crooked tie, painfully aware of the silly and adoring expression on her face. With her sore feet stuffed into a pair of black four-inch Gianvito Rossi heels, their size difference is almost negligible and Bonnie takes the opportunity to brush her lips against his.

"No need to be nervous, love," Klaus whispers into her ear, smiling when he detects gooseflesh spreading over her exposed arm. "Just show them your smile and everyone will be terribly charmed."

Though not exactly familiar with the upper crust of British society, Bonnie suspects her American charm will not have much of an effect on them. Not if they're anything like the people immortalized in the oil paintings that surround them. Stiff and horribly serious.

"It'll be fine," Bonnie says, unsure if her words are meant to soothe him or herself.

"Why am I not surprised to catch the two of you snogging?" Camille asks; her blonde ponytail visible as she peeks into the alcove. Huffing, she takes Bonnie's hand and gently – or not – pulls her back onto the corridor. "Honestly, Klaus, the place is crawling with reporters. What would you have done if one of them caught you like that?"

"I'd tell them to sod off," he answers with a cheeky grin, fully aware his reply will only serve to irritate her even further.

"Do you wish to antagonize your mother before she even lays eyes on Bonnie?" Cami questions, giving him a knowing smile at his obvious frown. "Now, be a dear and go join your family, Klaus. I'll take care of your fair maiden for the time being."

To Bonnie's surprise, Klaus doesn't argue or replies with a snarky comment. He merely adjusts his suit, impeccably tailored to fit like a glove, and cups her cheek for a moment, blue eyes as warm as ever. Then, he turns around and disappears in the maze of corridors, portraits, and priceless antiques.

"I know you're used to cameras, but there are lots of those tonight," Cami starts to say as she leads Bonnie through yet another corridor. "They won't be here the whole evening, so just ignore them."

Despite not catching half of the blonde's words, Bonnie nods. She's in a bit of a daze, her eyes unconsciously flickering to the glittering chandeliers above them and the pristine bright red carpet that was brushed within an inch of its life.

"I can do that," Bonnie mumbles, gripping her black satin clutch with both hands. She could do that. A better part of her life now consists of dodging and ignoring paparazzi.

"Oh, and don't squint."

* * *

As it turns out, the _no squinting _advice comes in handy as soon as Bonnie enters Marble Hall, and is greeted by an absurd amount of lenses directed at her. As a dancer, she's used to others analyzing her every detail into exhaustion. The way she stands, the way she folds and extends her arms, everything is studied. Photographers and curious reporters with iPhones should be a routine occurrence, but _this _feels far more intimidating than Bonnie's anticipated.

The constant shuttering sound of clicks becomes louder when members of the royal family walk into the room. There's no fanfare, no trumpets sounded or a footman announcing their presence, just an abrupt lull in the conversations.

Much like Camille's described, watching the royals move around the room is akin to watching a well-rehearsed dance. They move through the room with a mixture of precision and grace; an easy charming smile fixed on their faces. Even Bonnie, who's never been one to ponder about the monarchy one way or another, is dazzled. Particularly because this is the first time she's seeing Nik in his native habitat. Right now he's HRH Prince Niklaus, working on behalf of the Crown. It's a bit fascinating, watching them take these different personas. Rebekah, who can be as sharp as a whip and has the most acidic sense of humor Bonnie's ever known, seems to be as innocent as a lamb as she engages in conversation with one of the ballet mistresses.

"And how are you enjoying yourself this fine evening, Miss Bennett?" The familiar masculine voice – her favorite voice – asks with a layer of polished propriety befitting an aristocrat.

For a second, Bonnie is reminded of their first reunion, when she was tipsy on rosé and thought he was a pretty boy, heir to an earldom with way more charm than one should be allowed to have.

"Very well, Your Royal Highness," Bonnie nods, shifting her weight from foot to foot in restless motion. From the corner of her eye, she notices two soloists huddled together; peering at them as they sipped on champagne and did an awful job of hiding their nosiness.

This is precisely what Bonnie was _not _looking forward to.

Even with rampant rumors, editorials on The Sun, and some light ribbing on their part, her relationship with the rest of her colleagues remained unchanged. Not anymore. Based on the not-too-subtle glance she's receiving, Bonnie just knows the dynamics have changed. She isn't just another dancer struggling to get through morning classes anymore. Now she's also Bonnie Bennett, Prince Klaus' girlfriend, and tabloids' favorite subject.

Her two worlds – kept apart with careful effort on her part – are now coming together and Bonnie isn't quite ready for that.

Indifferent to the snapping cameras and wide eyes set on them, Klaus reaches to intertwine their fingers; a familiar gesture that must speak volumes in this particular environment.

"Have you realized," he asks, chuckling at the somewhat discombobulated expression on Bonnie's face; his thumb rubbing shapeless figures on the back of her hand. "That you will be stamped on nearly every single newspaper by tomorrow?"

Painfully aware of the photographers – attempting to blend in with their smart black jackets and failing to do so – aiming their cameras at them, Bonnie forces an amiable expression on her face. It takes her an inordinate amount of self-discipline.

She groans and gulps champagne as if the bubbly liquid has the unparalleled ability to settle her anxiety. "Please don't remind me."

"You're not _regretting_ this, are you?" Klaus murmurs, biting his lip as he keeps his eyes on her, almost afraid of her answer. Which is fair, given that she did break up with him and flew back home just a few weeks ago. "I can admit that this whole set is perhaps a tad…intimidating."

"Not regretting it, no. But yes, a little intimidating," Bonnie admits, sneaking a glance to the – freaking – Queen, who is currently engaging in conversation with Kevin, the company's director.

Everything about this is a little bizarre. She's going to meet – and by meeting, she means curtsy and exchange a limited amount of words – Nik's mom for the first time with photographers, her colleagues, and her bosses around. Lovely.

"Well, Camille and the rest of them seem to be distracted and we've given them enough snaps for their papers," Klaus comments; the usual naughty glint in his blue eyes. "What do you say of a tour? I may not know about Queen Victoria's history as much as the tour guides, but I know all the secret hideaway spots."

Bonnie covers her mouth to hide the amused smile from him

"Nik, we're not sneaking away while your family is out here."

"Miss Bennett, whoever said such a thing? I'll merely escort you to the restroom and then offer you a rather educational lecture on the many portraits that adorn this palace's walls."

This time, she can't help but simper at him, overcome with a sense of gratitude towards him. Even now he's able to sense her growing discomfort and is compelled to do something to make her feel better. Her sweet prince.

"No getting me in trouble when I'm trying to make a good first impression."

"Love, I hardly think you are capable of _not _leaving a good impression when you look as magnificent as you do," he says in a murmur. His facial expression is expertly schooled into a placid one as if they were discussing the weather instead of trying (and managing) to seduce her. An amazing ability he's probably acquired after years of having the cameras trained on him.

For a moment, Bonnie is captivated as she watches _her _Nik transform into Prince Niklaus right before her eyes. It's amazing and terrifying all at once. She snaps out of it at the feel of the flute of champagne being pressed into her hand.

"For some reason, I don't think looking _magnificent_ will endear me to your parents," she points out, snickering at the thought of the Queen being charmed by her (or rather, Celeste's) fashion choices or any other physical attributes.

"Well, it did endear you to Rebekah and she's the most terrifying member of this family," Klaus points out, which doesn't seem very likely to Bonnie. "Don't worry, love. You're easily the most brilliant girl I've ever brought home."

His smooth compliment is enough to elicit a pink blush on the top of her cheeks.

"Well, I hardly think that's true," she replies with a chuckle, bringing the glass of champagne to her lips for a sip.

It's almost fascinating, the absolute transformation she's gone through in the few months of their relationship. Old Bonnie, still disillusioned from the shit show that was her breakup with Jeremy, would be fraught with insecurities the moment his exes came into the conversation. This Bonnie, clad in this season's Ralph Lauren and wearing a bright smile that's due to stamp tomorrow's covers, is unfazed.

"Why is that?"

"If _People_ is to be believed, your army of ex-girlfriends includes two actresses, two models, a singer and of course, a blue-blooded aristocrat heiress."

"And you, my love, happens to be a particularly bendy ballerina with a tendency of keeping me on my toes," Klaus reminds her as he traces the skin of her wrist with his finger pads. The small gesture has Bonnie swooning in her suede pumps. "In case you're wondering, _People_ has failed to paint an accurate picture of my love life.

Bonnie blinks slowly, fidgeting with her charm bracelet, unsure of how to respond. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I do need to go to the restroom."

His face lights up in a boyish manner and he waggles his eyebrows. "Does that mean you've decided to let go of your puritan preconceived notions?"

"It means I've had too much champagne, and I'm still a no on the fooling around the issue."

He releases a forlorn sigh and brings a hand to his chest as if he's just received the most devastating news. "I reckon I cannot demand perfection of you at all times, can I?"

* * *

The evening had been going well for Bonnie, despite the awkward looks she's received from Olivia – the redhead first soloist who seems to be part confused part intrigued – and her brain trying to remember every single useful advice on socializing with aristocracy. Of course Bonnie would cross paths with her boyfriend's mom – the woman formally known as Her Majesty, Queen Esther – at a restroom while she's fishing for lip gloss in her clutch with a damp crumpled up hand towel on the white marble countertop. Out of all possible scenarios, of course, this is the one to materialize.

"Your Majesty," Bonnie squeaks out, almost tripping on her own feet as she takes a step back to curtsy; not a hint of ballerina grace to be detected.

"Goodness, you don't have to do that, dear," Esther says with a chuckle as she lathers her hand with lavender soap and rinses them off. "Making one curtsy in a restroom when nobody is around is just preposterous. Especially when the one curtsying happens to be my son's girlfriend."

"Oh," Bonnie says, unsure of the proper line of conversation in that situation. One, because she was trained on what to do in a setting that has nothing to do with this and two: her mind still can't quite process that this is the woman on post stamps and she looks much younger in person.

Maybe a woman does look younger when she's not carrying a ten-pound crown on her head and donning centuries-old accessories.

"Niklaus just wouldn't stop chattering about you, it is as if we're already familiar," Esther comments with a closed mouth smile, one that doesn't feel quite as welcoming to Bonnie. "I must say, my son is quite smitten. He has gone to staggering extents to ensure your protection, even rejecting counsel from advisors."

"Ma'am..." Bonnie starts to say, even though she has no idea of the appropriate thing to say in this situation. Somehow, apologizing for Nik's willingness to protect her and their relationship feels wrong. Not to mention that standing in her forest green column gown – probably a bespoke piece from a renowned British designer – light blonde hair slicked back in a low bun and high cheekbones, Esther looks every bit of an intimidating woman.

"Oh no, dear, I wasn't trying to blame you," Esther assures Bonnie, who doesn't quite feel assured. "I am well aware of the son I have and if he wishes for something, there is nothing that can stand in his way."

Still unsure of the appropriate response – Cami and Celeste's tutoring didn't exactly prepare her for this awkward situation – Bonnie only nods in agreement. Nik could be far too stubborn for his own good, after all.

There's a brief pause on their stilted conversation when Esther turns on the faucet to rinse off her soapy hands. The sound of running water acts as a small reprieve from the absolute uncomfortable silence in the room, and Bonnie wonders if she could get away with making a strategic retreat while Esther is distracted. She can't, so pumps remain rooted to the white marble floor.

"You are very talented, Miss Bennett. Mr. O'Hare had nothing but enthusiastic words to describe you," Esther notes as she looks up, meeting Bonnie's eyes on the mirror. The tone of her voice – neither overly friendly nor patronizing – combined with the ever-present faint smile on her rosy lips make it impossible for Bonnie to decipher her.

"Thank you, ma'am," Bonnie tries not to stutter her words, wondering if this encounter could be any more awkward. Meeting your boyfriend's mother shouldn't be so miserable, even if said mother happens to be the head of state.

"You have a flourishing career as well," Esther says in a quieter voice, more to herself than the fidgeting young woman in front of her. "I'm afraid my son doesn't understand the significance of sacrificing one's career and personal freedom, but I hope you do, my dear. It would be such a shame to see such talents go to waste."

With that, she turns around to offer Bonnie a glance – one that could almost be mistaken for compassionate, which makes Bonnie even more tense – and leaves the room.

"What the fuck," Bonnie murmurs to herself, unsure if the last five minutes did actually happen or if it was just a figment of her imagination.

* * *

It's late in the evening when they slip back into Nik's apartment. Barefooted and limping ever so slightly – dancing a two-act ballet plus standing around in high heels for hours equals sore feet and legs - Bonnie sighs in a blend of relief and exhaustion.

Save for the impromptu rendezvous with Esther, the night went swimmingly. Bonnie remembered most of the little pointers taught by Cami and Celeste and she didn't do anything embarrassing that would make her common birth and upbringing painfully obvious. The whole prospect of facing the press – literally, as there were at least five photographers with cameras pointed at her and inching to get the best shot – went smoother than she expected. Apparently, professionals with Palace passes tend to be far more polite than screaming paparazzi that use to skulk around Covent Garden or the streets of Chelsea hoping to get a glimpse of her.

"I would say that was a dashing success, wouldn't you agree?" Klaus asks with a chipper tone as he sets her high heeled pumps – the offending pair was promptly discarded by Bonnie as soon as she climbed into the backseat of the Range Rover – down on the floor by the door. "Honestly, love, you couldn't be any more perfect if you tried. Followes looked as if his head was about to explode."

Klaus releases a burst of satisfying laughter as he threw himself on the couch, earning a groan from Bonnie who had found the perfect spot on the three-seater, and was cuddled with a moss green cushion. As a way to atone for his carelessness, he places her right foot on his lap; the pads of his fingers massaging the arch with surprising expertise. It works, of course it works, and Bonnie has to cover her mouth to conceal the moan that's ready to escape from her lips.

"I'm not sure if I would consider it a smashing success, but no catastrophes occurred, so that's a plus," Bonnie mumbles onto the cushion; her eyes fluttering closed. She may fall asleep on this couch, with her makeup on and still wearing the Ralph Lauren piece that may have cost more than reasonable.

"Are you still on your self-deprecation crusade because of a two-minute talk with my mother **on **the loo? Trust me, love, despite what you may think, it went fine. Honestly, you should take as a compliment that she didn't just nod and went on her merry way."

Bonnie raises her head to fix him a skeptic look and she's met with a soft chuckle from him. Oh, what compelling alternatives. Being ignored by her boyfriend's mother or being told in not so many words that she should let this relationship run its course and then run the other way. Of course Bonnie didn't have the heart to spell out the particulars of her conversation with Esther or his mother's "advice". Enough family issues haunted the House of Clarence without her getting involved.

"I'm just saying, love, it wasn't an utter disaster," he shrugs and tickles the sole of her feet, chuckling when she tries to wiggle away.

Lulled by the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on her skin, Bonnie only hums in response and hugs the pillow tighter against her body.

"You need a better cushion," she complains; mumbling like a child who's fighting sleep before her nap time. "This one is too lumpy."

"Is it?" Klaus wonders as he inches his head to get a better look at the offending item. It doesn't appear to be as comfortable as the cushion pads that inhabit Bonnie's sofa and bed, but he is hardly an expert in such matters. Even though he's thirty years old, the task of purchasing furniture or decorative items has never been incumbent upon him.

After all, most of his life consists of at least three people fussing over him, planning his schedule down to the minute. He can't even open his own car door without clearing it with one of his protection officers. The most freedom he's given is when he can choose his holiday destination or which pub to go, so suffice to say, he hasn't been educated on where one should go to get proper cushions. Or a better sofa.

"Maybe you could assist me in purchasing furniture that wasn't built in the eighteenth century or didn't belong to my great-great-grandmother?"

Studying his surroundings, it doesn't take too long to conclude that his apartment, though not nearly as grand as Elijah's in Clarence House or his old rooms in Buckingham Palace, does resemble an uncomfortable trip back to the Hanoverian Age. "This is more…mausoleum than a proper home, but I would like for you to feel comfortable here. The tabloids haven't discovered your address yet, but it's only a matter of time until these bastards are accosting you in your front door."

Klaus' tentative words are soft but meaningful enough to rouse Bonnie from her sleepy haze. Despite being exhausted to the bone and still a little tipsy, her mind has all but disconnected from her body and is now focused on the singular task of processing what he's just said.

What was that? An attempt to make her feel better after an overwhelming evening? A way to soothe his guilty for the attack-by-press that surely was to come?

Bonnie considers the two plausible options, feeling an uncomfortable jolt in her stomach. Surely he didn't mean to hide anything more serious within his innocent suggestion. Surely she wasn't expecting him to. Because expecting _that _would mean she's thinking about pirouetting into an abyss without no safety net, which would be a rather irresponsible move that's not at all becoming of the old Bonnie Bennett. But then again, the old Bonnie Bennett wouldn't go around falling in love with princes or attending events in actual palaces, so who knows what's becoming of her these days?

"You wouldn't be able to officially move in," he rushes to say, and Bonnie can't tell if he sounds apologetic or reassuring. Nevertheless, his ability to recognize the signs of her impending anxiety rush is admirable. "We're a family of exquisite hypocrites and the English people just wouldn't bear if one of their princes started shacking up with his girlfriend even though the prime minister has a mistress twenty years his junior."

She pushes herself into a sitting position, holding up a hand as she tries to figure out her next words. "First of all, that's an interesting tidbit on the Prime Minister. Second, Nik, is this your way of asking me to move in with you?"

Sensing her insecurity rearing its ugly head, Bonnie wants to take back the words the moment they come out of her lips. What if this is all a case of acute misunderstanding and high expectations on her part? It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

"I understand that a life with me comes with challenges, to say the very least. We can't have a _normal _relationship, and it is selfish of me to ask you to deal with photographers and reporters scouring through your family history, but I do want it, Bonnie. A life with you."

That short, four-word-sentence, though not as intimidating as its notorious, overused alternative, is both terrifying and breathtaking. Literally. Enveloped by the mist of absolute love and adoration, Bonnie finds that inhaling and exhaling at a natural rhythm has become a laborious function.

"Yes," Bonnie breathes out at last; her voice so small that the humming from the clunky heater almost drowns it out. "But don't ask me right now. Not when everything is so…"

She trails off, making a gesture with her hands to illustrate what's on her mind when words fail to come to her.

Confusing, overwhelming? Bonnie can't quite figure out, but Klaus' small nod indicates that he understands her. Maybe he feels the same way. Both of them are clearheaded enough to know where they want to be in the future, even though she barely knows how they'll get there. It wouldn't be so bad to daydream about their future, though.

"When you ask me again, I want to be ready to say yes not only to you but to the lifelong commitment that comes with you, you get that?" Bonnie peers up at him, nibbling on her lower lip. Even though Nik has proven to be shockingly understanding for a person that knows nothing but privilege, a part of her is afraid he'll interpret her hesitation as a lack of commitment to their relationship.

Klaus runs a hand through his hair, unsure if he's filled with disappointment or understanding. Perhaps a bit of both. Ever since reaching puberty, he's been made very aware that the woman he chose wouldn't simply become his wife; she would enter the Firm as well. She was expected to let go of _inconvenient _aspects that wouldn't look appropriate in a royal wife, such as opinions that seemed remotely political, a job, and an overall public voice.

Those requirements didn't pose much of an issue for him when he was dating Aurora, the ideal aristocratic woman who conformed to the royal mold. Not only that, but Aurora didn't see conforming as a sacrifice. The exact opposite of Aurora, Bonnie was taught to reject the ideals that the Monarchy holds in high esteem. She's strong, independent, and outspoken; everything a traditional royal wife shouldn't be.

"I may be unbearably in love with you, but I have not gone daft yet," he proclaims with a genuine chuckle, yelping when Bonnie's hand connects with his bicep in a playful swat. "Goodness, love, you don't even allow me to propose and now you assault me? I do happen to easily bruise."

"Oh, I'm so very sorry, Your Royal Highness," Bonnie apologizes with exaggerated and sarcastic deference and frowns when she notices Klaus' lips curling in a not so subtle snicker. "What?"

"I suppose you realize you will have to find another way to tease me, don't you, love? Seeing as you will also be a Royal Highness in the future," he says as he arches an eyebrow, almost daring Bonnie to contradict him.

She doesn't. Not because she necessarily agrees with him, but because she's too preoccupied with having a mild freakout. Holy fuck. She's marrying someone. Not just someone. A prince. And after marrying said prince she'll be…

"_A princess,"_ Bonnie murmurs, feeling her face heat up in embarrassment for having said that out loud instead of keeping it to herself. If Klaus finds her words a little presumptuous and a lot childish, he doesn't show it. Instead, he just beams at her; his pearly white teeth – a rarity for upper-class people, Bonnie's come to learn recently – in full view.

"Technically, you won't be a princess on your own right, but you'll be a Duchess, given that my mother actually confers me with a new title," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "I do hope you weren't terribly attached to the prospect of becoming Princess Bonnie."

She lets out a squeaky, high pitched sound that resembles a blend of a giggle and a hiccup, sensing a second wave of mild anxiety wash over her. It is one thing to understand Klaus' family and heritage. Of course, it is still odd to watch him on the BBC live stream of some major event, to receive little notes written on Buckingham Palace monogrammed stationery or having to reschedule dates because Nik has an emergency trip to New Zealand. She's gotten used to it, for the most part, but these– attending Ascot, summers at Balmoral, cutting ties, and unveiling plaques – are elements of his world, not hers.

Her world consists of broken in pointe shoes, sweaty leotards, mismatched knit legwarmers, Tiger Balm and long hours at the theater, with the occasional break for working on her blog or doing a campaign for a brand or a charity organization. Walking away from all of that to become Duchess Bonnie, who smiles, waves, and wears pretty coat dresses, is a little (a lot) crazy to her. And what's even crazier? The fact that she's considering a major life change months into this relationship. A year ago, Nik was simply a handsome prince who seemed to party too much and was constantly mentioned by the tabloids for his escapades. Now, he's possibly the most important part of her life, and that's just not like her. But then again, the past seven months have been nothing like her.

"Have I scared you with my grand plans to marry you and then have my mother make you a royal duchess?" he wonders, leaning forward to place a kiss on the side of her neck.

There he goes using those words about her as if they don't mean anything, and they probably don't. Not to him.

"A little," she admits, cradling his face with one hand, hoping the tender gesture will be enough to convey whatever emotion her she can't voice herself. "It's kind of crazy to me. Hundred-years-old palaces, curtsies, and protocols are outside my realm of comprehension. I'm still trying to grapple with the fact that you want me to join this world."

"I do, for horribly selfish reasons," Klaus concedes as he pulls her body flush to his, trying to keep her as close as possible. _To keep her from running, _a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminds him and Klaus can't very well argue against that. He is bloody scared of Bonnie realizing the true extent of what he's asking of her, and deciding to leave.

For all of his stiff upper lip and disregard for sentimentalities, Klaus was proper devastated when Bonnie needed time from their relationship and returned home. Even the briefest hiatus was enough to drive him mad, so he could hardly imagine what would happen if Bonnie were to decide he isn't worth the absolute circus that's accompanied him for decades now.

"Come on," she urges, wiggling free from his embrace to stand up. "Let's get out of these clothes and then you can tell me more about our future together."

* * *

**A/N: I know it looks like I've abandoned all my stories, but I promise I didn't. I'm just going through it and I've been hating everything I write. I do appreciate all your reviews and I'm sorry for taking so long, guys. The next chapter is halfway done, so I won't take months to update. Everything is really crazy now, so please stay safe! **


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